Coda: Season Six
by Ryeloza
Summary: A series of post-episode vignettes for season six.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Desperate Housewives_, especially the blurb of dialogue I borrowed to serve as an intro. I just watch the show obsessively.

**Story Summary: **A series of post-episode vignettes for season six.

**Chapter Summary:** The difference between sin and evil is the virtue inside of people. A post-episode look at "Nice is Different than Good." Takes place primarily after the wedding.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**One:**

**The Opposition of Sin**

_**Mary Alice:**__ It's not hard to find sin in the suburbs. Just look behind closed doors and you'll find your neighbors cheating on their husbands; resenting their children; plotting against their friends. But as much as we like to talk about the sinful things people do, we forget there's a difference between sin and evil. Sadly, there's always someone willing to come along and remind us._

**One – Wrath and Patience: Katherine**

The sun outside is so bright that Katherine wants the earth to open and swallow her whole, effectively blocking its rays forever. She knows that no one is coming after her—she's seen with whom her friends' priorities lie…even Bree's—but she marches at a brisk, steadfast pace as though she's escaping someone.

Her anger has become alive inside of her and it's been growing steadily for months. And she just thought that if Susan would apologize, would admit to the world that she is wrong, that maybe that would quell the rage. But it didn't and now she's stuck with this living fire inside of her that she's sure she has no control over.

Anger is fueled by so much more than one slight, and Katherine has had hers building for years. The sound of every smack against her each time her husband beat her. Dylan's death. Adam's betrayal and lies and self-righteous act of leaving her as though he was the one wronged. Years of loneliness. Bree taking off and leaving her behind with just a small piece of her world. Mike leaving her for Susan.

But now, today, hearing Susan's apology but knowing that she is still going to walk away with everything and leave Katherine with nothing…

It's ignited a flame that Katherine knows will never go away. It is passion. It is power.

She's burning alive and she can't figure out how to stop it.

But she's not sure she wants to.

**Two – Envy and Kindness: Ana**

Ana rolls her eyes and taps her foot, making every effort to let her impatience be known. Unfortunately, the only one paying any attention to her is Juanita, and unless Ana pays her to do something atrocious they're apparently not getting out of this church any time soon. Her uncle is too busy discussing golf or basketball or some sport with the neighborhood men while her aunt is gossiping about Katherine Mayfair's big scene. That, admittedly, was a riotous tribute to the nature of pathetic. She wonders if she'll ever be able to get a man as broken up about her as Katherine is about Mike.

With a sigh, Ana sinks back into her seat. Juanita stands directly in front of her and cocks her head; the kid is almost obnoxiously curious sometimes, but Ana tries to work it to her advantage. "This is boring," says Juanita.

"Astute observation, kid."

"Do you want to play a game?"

Ana frowns, annoyed both because Juanita is bothering her, and, worse, because her suggestion actually sounds tempting. "Fine," she says, making sure to sigh as though she's being burdened. "Let's play, what are they saying?"

"How do you play that?" asks Juanita dubiously.

"It's easy. We pick out people and try to decide what they're talking about."

Juanita crosses her arms. "That doesn't sound fun."

"Well if you don't want to…"

There is a moment of silence for which Ana gives Juanita some credit for holding her own, but then she gives in with a mournful, "Fine. I'll play."

"Okay. Let's start with an easy one. How about your mom, Mrs. Hodge, and Mrs. Scavo?"

"Duh," says Juanita, rolling her eyes. "They're talking about Mrs. Mayfair. Did you see her?" Juanita makes the crazy gesture with her finger. "I think she got in a fight with someone."

Ana fights a smile. "Fine. How about Celia and that kid?"

"MJ Delfino?"

"Yeah."

"Celia's probably not saying anything. MJ is probably being a whiny baby. As usual!"

"Really? I think Celia's telling MJ that she loves him."

Juanita's eyes widen, but then she starts to giggle. "Maybe they'll get married," she says.

"Oh definitely," says Ana.

"Okay, let me pick one!" Juanita scans the room and then points. "Julie and that guy who moved in. Mom says he's moody."

Ana frowns. She doesn't know much about Danny Bolen, but she may have to rectify that. Surely he'll be good for something. And it bothers her that he's looking at Julie like she's the only person in the room. Something inside of her wants to ruin it; to prove that she can turn him her way without a second thought about Julie. But deep down she fears that even if she can sway his eye (which she's sure she can), he'll never actually look at her the way he's looking at Julie right now.

"I think they're in love," Juanita says before Ana can say anything. "Not pretend like MJ and Celia. Real love. Like Mommy and Daddy."

Judging by how Julie is scowling, Ana has a feeling it's a little more one-sided, but she can't bring herself to crush Juanita's fantasy. It's enticing, her cousin's childlike view of the world. Ana can't remember ever seeing the world that way.

"Yeah," she says, swallowing her jealousy. You're probably right."

**Three – Pride and Humility: Susan**

"I can't believe she said that to me! Can you believe it? After that apology! That world class apology! During my _wedding_ no less!" Susan bats at her veil, which suddenly seems to be everywhere, and moans. "Why did this have to happen today?"

Mike puts a hand on her knee and squeezes it. "Calm down, Susan. Technically nothing happened until after the wedding."

"We were still in the church! In my book that qualifies as during!"

"Honey, please. It's over and done. Katherine got what she demanded from you and eventually she'll get over this. Trust me."

"I doubt that!" Susan crosses her arms and settles back in the seat of the limo to have a good pout. She had truly meant her apology and Katherine had basically spat on it. Worse still, no one was going to see Katherine as the bad guy here because she hadn't openly rebuffed Susan. Why did these things only ever seem to happen to her?

"I don't understand why you care so much if Katherine accepted your apology or not," she hears Mike say. With effort she turns her head to glare at him. "All anyone is going to say about the whole confrontation is what a big person you were to do that for her on your wedding day. And frankly, I don't think anyone will be talking about it for long anyway. The wedding was beautiful; the reception is going to be just as special. And our friends are going to care more about us and what this day means than they will about one angry woman in a red dress."

Susan gives him a small smile. "Well, I did get salmon puffs that rival Bree's for the reception. And I do know how to throw a good party."

"See: a silver lining!"

"You're right! This day is about us, not her!" Susan leans forward to kiss Mike but gets tangled in her dress and ends up slumped against his shoulder instead. Mike laughs.

"Come here," he says, and he plants a big kiss right on her mouth.

**Four – Gluttony and Temperance: Orson**

Orson scans the room again for Bree, but he can't spot her distinctive hair anywhere. Her lovely hair. No, her _gorgeous_ hair. Distinctive, lovely, gorgeous hair that he'll probably never get to run his fingers through again. Sighing, he downs the glass of champagne in his hand and then plucks up another abandoned flute that he takes with him as he continues to push through the crowds. For the time he decides to give up his search; most likely Bree is still off chasing Katherine somewhere. She'll find him eventually. Maybe.

He makes his way back towards their table which has been largely abandoned in favor of the dance floor. Only Lynette remains, hunched glumly with her elbow on the table while picking at the cake in front of her. Orson shoots back the champagne in his hand and saunters over to her.

"Have you seen Bree?" he asks. His voice seems louder than he means it to be and he clears his throat.

Lynette looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow and belatedly he remembers that not fifteen minutes before he announced he was going to search for his wife. "She's hasn't been back to the table."

"Oh." Orson pulls out the chair next to Lynette and sits down. He gestures to the champagne glass in front of her. "Not drinking tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, no. No. No alcohol for me. Not a drop." Lynette crosses her arms on the table and drops her head on top of them. "Oh God."

Orson steals her champagne before she can change her mind. "Where's Tom anyway?"

Lynette raises her head with a sigh. "He took Penny out on the dance floor."

The dance floor is crowded, but Orson can spy Tom twirling Penny around; they're both laughing and happy and it only makes Orson more miserable. "She looks really grown up, Lynette." He frowns, thinking of the tiny toddler Lynette used to carry on her hip. Has it really been so long since he first married Bree? Out loud he says, "It makes me feel old."

Lynette glares at him, and though he can't quite put his finger on his apparent faux pas he automatically apologizes.

"Maybe you should lay off the champagne," says Lynette.

"Well I know a secret about champagne that you probably don't: it numbs the pain!" Orson chuckles. "Seriously, you should try it. You look like you could use a little numbing."

"Well, you're right about that," concedes Lynette, but she still doesn't take a drink and Orson's moment of good spirit deflates.

Before either of them can say anything more, Penny runs up to the table full of energy that Orson doesn't believe he'll ever have again. "Hey, baby," says Lynette, though her voice doesn't lose its listlessness. "Did you have fun with your dad?"

"Yeah. Caitlyn and I are going to go outside, okay?"

"Outside?"

Tom walks up behind Penny and drops his hands on her shoulders. "Just on the verandah, honey."

Lynette nods. "Okay."

Penny runs off, leaving Orson to feel like an awkward third wheel. Tom is staring down at Lynette with a look that is clearly meant to be private and something in Lynette's face finally softens. Orson feels a pang; he can't remember the last time that Bree looked at him that way. Sorrowful, he reaches for the last glass of champagne on the table while Lynette halfheartedly excuses herself to go dance with her husband.

Orson looks down at the glass, swirls its contents a few times and then decidedly sets it aside. He's done.

Out of no where, Bree slides into Lynette's vacated seat. Despite her pursed lips and the cold look in her eyes she's still the most welcome sight he's seen all night and he works up his first genuine smile. "Hi," he says.

"Hello."

"How is Katherine?"

"I never found her. Look, I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted—"

"Dance with me," Orson interrupts. He knows it's risky, Bree is as intolerant of rudeness as he is, but maybe it's time he took more chances in their marriage. Hopeful, he stands and holds out a hand to his beautiful wife. "Please."

"I'm not in the mood, Orson. It's been a very long day and you've clearly been drinking. Let's just go home."

Orson's smile fades and he drops his hand. "Okay," he concedes. Disappointed, he picks up the champagne he abandoned just a minute ago and tosses it back. "We'll go home."

**Five – Greed and Charity: Danny**

For Danny, the wedding reception plays like a montage in his mind: a series of lovely images one after another meant for the sole purpose of delighting his senses. The world has seemed like this ever since he first saw Julie and no matter if she's smiling at him or screaming at him he still wants to save every moment with her as a permanent snapshot in his mind. Even tonight, wearing the most ridiculous-looking dress he's ever seen, he can't keep his eyes off of her.

Julie, laughing with her stepfather as they watch her mother dance the YMCA.

Julie, hugging her mother with tears in her eyes.

Julie, dancing with her little brother.

Talking, smiling, giggling, drinking, twirling…it's a whole new catalogue of images just for him. For hours, he sits and watches her, delights in her, longs for her, until finally the right moment comes along. He sees her say her goodbyes and stalks her with his eyes as she crosses the room. Once he is out of her line of vision, he rises and approaches, nearly humming with the excitement of being able to talk to her.

"What is up with this dress?" he asks, leaning close to her from behind so she knows his words are just for her. He swats playfully at the layers of tulle from behind and Julie turns abruptly to face him.

"Go. Away."

"Aw, come on. I'm just having a little fun."

"It's not fun. You're not funny. And it's my mother's wedding reception; I have more important things going on tonight."

"Liar. You're on your way home."

Julie puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. "What? Have you been watching me?"

"I just want to talk to you for a minute. Please."

For a second he thinks Julie will give in: her face softens and her posture relaxes. Then she says, "I'm leaving now. Don't follow me."

She turns and stalks away from him and he represses his impulse to follow her. Instead he calls after her, "You can't avoid me forever, Julie!" She doesn't respond, but it doesn't matter. Someday soon she'll be all his.

**Six – Sloth and Diligence: Lynette**

"Hey Mom?" Parker's voice drifts down the stairs and Lynette hurriedly stuffs the maternity top back into the box and shoves it under the table. She and Tom are going to have to tell the kids about the babies soon, but she plans to keep the secret for as long as she can. Once other people know she will actually have to make an effort to appear happy and just the thought of that exhausts her. She turns as Parker descends the stairs, but she can't quite manage a smile. "I'm going over to Andy's for awhile," he says.

"Now? It's kind of late, don't you think?"

"It's only nine."

"On a school night."

Parker frowns and shifts the basketball he's holding in front of him to rest under one arm. "Tomorrow's Sunday, Mom."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, my mind must have been somewhere else." She manages a tight smile and crosses her arms over her chest. "Okay, well just make sure you're home by eleven."

To her surprise, Parker looks at her in confusion instead of making a break for the door. She feels acutely uncomfortable under his gaze, as though he's trying to puzzle out her mystery. "Mom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lies automatically, but Parker continues to stare at her.

"I just mean you've been kind of out of it lately. You didn't even do anything at the reception when Dad decided to play DJ."

Lynette cringes at the thought even though just a few hours ago she hadn't had the energy to care one way or the other. "Your dad was just having fun," she says halfheartedly.

Parker cocks his head and gives her a look she's seen on Tom's face a hundred times. With a pang of heartsickness she remembers the day he was born; how like Tom he'd appeared, how happy she had been, and how completely overwhelmed by love she had felt. Maybe Tom is right. Maybe she'll feel the same thing when she holds these babies in her arms. It is the only hope she has to cling to, but she's finding it impossible to fight through the overpowering anguish.

"You'd tell us if you were sick again, right?"

Lynette feels literally snapped back to the present as Parker's words nearly knock the wind out of her. "What?"

"We were talking about it. You've been acting really weird all summer. Porter said that it kind of reminded him of when you were sick. And you didn't tell us last time until we asked, so…" Parker punctuates his speech with a shrug.

"No," Lynette says, but it comes out weaker than she intended, more of a gasp than an answer. She clears her throat and tries again. "No. I'm not sick."

Parker nods. "Okay. Well. I guess I should go before it's too late."

"Yeah." She leans back against the table and doesn't watch as Parker walks away.

"Mom?" she hears him say a second later. Slowly, she raises her head; he's standing with his hand on the doorknob. "Just remember, we're not little kids anymore." He smiles briefly and then before she can blink he's gone.

Alone again, Lynette runs a hand over her stomach and blinks back unexpected tears. "No," she says quietly. "You're not."

**Seven – Lust and Chastity: Bree**

"Well that was worth waiting for!"

Bree turns from her back onto her side in order to look at Karl. Unlike all the other men she's been with he still seems full of energy despite going three rounds. He smiles at her and then squeezes her shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the lips. "We should do it again sometime."

To Bree's surprise, he climbs out of bed and scoops up his boxer shorts. Just an hour or so ago he was twirling them around his finger while spouting objectionable cowboy euphemisms for sex. Now he's leaving. Abruptly, she sits up in bed, holding the sheets to her chest in some belated form of chastity.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. My babysitter's fees double after midnight. Do I look like I'm made of money?" He laughs. "Forget that last part. Anyway, you have a husband to get home to, remember?"

Bree quells her initial impulse to say that she doesn't want to get home to her husband. Even if it's how she feels it's a useless protest to make because Orson can't find out about this. At least while she's still unsure if the likely result would be Orson sending her to jail.

"Don't think so hard, sexy. You'll get wrinkles." Karl plops down on the bed and kisses her again. "Look, if it's a one time thing then Orson will never find out and you can go on to repress this just like you do everything else. Problem solved."

"What if I don't want this to be a one time thing?"

Karl grinned. "If you want another ride on this stallion then all you have to do is call. But eventually Orson will find out. Trust me. I'm an expert on cheating." He shook his head. "Poor bastard. He's never gonna see it coming."

"Don't tell me _you_ feel guilty now!"

"Of course not. It was just today at the church." Karl's voice slides up into a poor impression of her husband as he echoes the words Orson stage whispered to her during the ceremony. "'This reminds me of our wedding. We can be that happy again you know.' Poor sap sounded just like Susie did. You know, back then."

For the first time in hours, rock hard guilt settles into the pit of Bree's stomach. In a flash she feels as though a decade or so has slipped away and she's back in Mary Alice's breakfast nook watching Susan cry over Karl, pitying her while simultaneously thanking God that Rex is so faithful. How foolish she had been then. How foolish she is now.

"We shouldn't do this again," she says quietly, but she's not quite sure she means what she says.

Karl shrugs. "It's on your terms, babe. Just remember that."

He kisses her one last time and leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own anything related to _Desperate Housewives_. Especially the two lines of dialogue I borrowed as an intro to this.

**Chapter summary: ** Karen McCluskey has had her share of conflicts on Wisteria Lane. A look at some of her past feuds.

**A/n: **I'd love to know what people think, so please review!

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Two:**

**Feuding and Fighting**

_**Karen:**__ What if I'm wrong? I can't have another family on this street hating me._

_**Roy:**__ Who hates _you?

**May 1991**

Karen McCluskey felt old. From her porch she could see the moving truck outside of the Barkers' house gathering up what pieces of furniture and boxes of knick-knacks were making the move with them to their new condo. Linda had been by the other day to show her pictures of the place and it had seemed nice; friendly-like. The brochure showed scads of older couples sharing dinners together or playing tennis or relaxing by the pool. "A retirement paradise," Linda had said, and Karen had nodded in agreement.

With the Barkers went the last of Karen's generation from Wisteria Lane, except, of course, for Martha Huber, but she and Karen had never gotten on well anyway. The past three years had seen an exodus of sorts with new, young families arriving to take over the big homes on the cul-de-sac. In a way it was a breath of relief to know that anyone who had known Gilbert was gone from the street; it seemed less and less likely she would be caught. But mostly Karen felt overwhelmingly lonely and increasingly bitter. Gilbert had unintentionally trapped her in this house for the rest of her days to live with nothing but her memories.

She sighed and sat down on her front steps. Over the years she'd forgiven a lot of Gilbert's mistakes, especially after Jakey had died and they had found it was all too easy to blame one another for everything if they didn't check themselves. But her discovery that he'd never changed his pension plan, well, that was enough to make her hate him just a little.

~*~

The next weekend another moving truck arrived, this one bearing more furniture and boxes than the Barkers left with. Karen spent the morning observing the young couple from the safe distance of her front lawn as they moved their belongings inside. It was strange to see these young people with a child moving on to the street. Karen couldn't help but think of how her son would be about their age now, maybe with a child of his own.

Around midday the new neighbors paused to take a break; the man settled into the back of the van with a sandwich and the woman scooped up the baby and began to walk him around the yard. Karen could already see the baby as a toddler and then a child, running through the neighborhood, destroying her lawn, screaming and causing mayhem. The behavior was intolerable even in her imagination, if not because of how disrespectful it was than because of how much it reminded her of Jakey. It seemed unbearable to think of a living reminder of what she had lost.

Perhaps the time had come to set precedence.

Karen approached the woman, but she knew that the husband was within earshot from his place on the moving truck. "Hello," she said loudly, and the woman turned with a big smile plastered on her face.

"Hello." She shifted the baby in her arms and held out her hand for Karen to shake; she did so reluctantly. "I'm Mary Alice Young. This is my son, Zach."

"Karen McCluskey. I live down the street. Number 5358."

"It's very nice to meet you."

"Yeah. I just wanted to warn you to keep your kid off my lawn."

Mary Alice's eyes widened and she brushed a stray bit of hair from her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Keep your kid in your own yard. Mine is not public property and I don't want your kid running through it willy nilly."

"Zach can't even walk yet."

"I gathered that seeing as he's still a baby. I'm just giving you fair warning. So you can't say later that you didn't know. Capiche?"

Karen gave a curt nod and walked away before Mary Alice could respond. She was sure she'd made her point.

**July 1995**

Martha Huber had been the thorn in Karen's side for over a decade. Karen despised everything about Martha: how she scuttled about the neighborhood overtly searching for gossip; how she spent hours working on her front lawn, expecting everyone to praise it; how she held things over others' heads in order to get her own way. Once she had even goaded Gilbert into repainting their house a more acceptable color. Each and every thing she did grated on Karen's nerves.

The one good thing about being a recluse was how little Martha bothered her now. It was hard to interfere in the life of someone who no longer actively or voluntarily associated with the neighbors.

Still, Karen found herself lonely for someone to talk to besides Jakey's picture or Gilbert's frozen corpse. So when Ida Greenberg moved in to her niece's old house, Karen found herself actually making an effort to go over and give her a proper hello.

Unfortunately, Martha seemed to have a similar notion. Which was why three days after Ida had moved in, as Karen approached Ida's house with an old bottle of scotch, Martha scurried up next to her bearing a potted plant.

"Martha."

"Karen. How nice to see you outside. And look at you. You actually brushed your hair."

Karen frowned and stopped abruptly in front of Martha, blocking her path. "Where do you think you're going with that plant?"

"Why to welcome Ida to the neighborhood of course. I was rather fond of her niece, you know." Karen honestly had no idea whether or not this was true, but regardless she couldn't imagine that the feeling was mutual. If there was one thing she and Martha had in common it was how universally they were disliked.

"Well come back later. I'm heading over there now."

Martha gave an insipid laugh. "There's no reason we both can't go. Why it'll be like a little party."

Karen sighed. "Can we cut the crap, Martha? I know you don't like me. I really don't like you. So let's not pretend that we're going in there with the intention to all become best friends. You know as well as I do that it has to be one or the other."

"Well that's certainly true." Martha continued to give her a false smile and Karen was reminded of another reason she hated this woman.

"So I'll go over now and you can come back later with your little plant."

"Oh come now, Karen. Let's not be naïve. What chance do you think you have with your bottle of scotch and a knowledge of our neighbors that comes solely from skulking in the bushes? Maybe if you came out of your house more often you'd know how the world works."

"Maybe if you came out of your house less the neighborhood would be a more pleasant place."

Finally, Martha scowled. "Move out of my way."

"No."

Martha tried to elbow past Karen and Karen responded with a firm shove. This only seemed to enrage Martha, though, and she came back at Karen with a harsh slam. The two struggled for a moment, Karen to keep Martha from the door and Martha to get past Karen, and then after a particularly harsh hit, Karen felt the bottle of scotch slip from her grasp. As the bottle shattered to the ground, drenching both of their shoes with scotch, Karen felt for a moment as though she might cry, so intolerable was the idea of losing to Martha Huber.

"Too bad," said Martha, finally pushing past Karen. "I'll guess you'll have to come back later."

Karen stared at the remains of her gift for a moment longer as Martha's shoes clacked towards Ida's door. For years now she'd been living on this street, doing nothing but hiding in her house and yelling at the neighborhood kids because any other effort was too overwrought with sadness. And now, finally, a chance had come to do something different, be something more, and Martha wanted to steal it.

Something inside of Karen broke, and she suddenly couldn't bear the thought. Stepping over the broken glass, she stormed towards Martha, wrenching her flowerpot out of her hands and running towards Ida's house. Behind her she could hear Martha yelling, but it didn't matter. She made it to the door first.

Victory was hers.

**February 1998**

Karen hardly noticed how chilly the air was she went out to collect her mail. She was expecting a check today and she wanted to get the grocery store before lunch, seeing as she had run out of both milk and bread yesterday evening. As she flicked through one bill after another, punctuated only here and there by a piece of junk mail, she felt her ire steadily growing. This new mailman was an idiot, constantly mixing up the mail and forcing Karen to interact with her neighbors. The last two times he'd put her mail in with the Scavos' and she'd had to wait days before Lynette managed to waddle her way across the street to deliver it. Even then she'd acted as though it was a major inconvenience.

Karen frowned and tucked her mail under her arm. Across the street, the Scavos' house was locked up tight. Why Lynette was still working when she looked like she was going to pop out those twins of hers any minute was beyond Karen. And, really, why should Karen have to suffer because Lynette wanted to stretch herself so thin that she couldn't be bothered to return someone's mail in a timely manner? Decided, she took off across the street.

The Scavos' mailbox was crammed full of mail and Karen pulled the entire lot of it out with disdain. "How many magazines do these people subscribe to?" she muttered. Frowning, she headed towards her house before that horrible Martha Huber noticed what she was up to and reported directly to Lynette. Once inside, Karen dropped her own mail down on the table and proceeded to paw through the Scavos', noting with pleasure that they had even more bills than she had. And they also had her check. Karen pulled it out, triumphant, and tossed the rest of the mail aside. Maybe she'd return it later. In a few days. When she felt like it.

~*~

The next morning, Karen woke up earlier than usual and wrapped herself in a warm sweater to head outside and wait for the postman. She planned to give him the tongue lashing he firmly deserved and hopefully train him to get the mail in the right box.

A long forty minutes passed before Karen finally saw the mailman idle into view across the street. From her seated position on her front steps, she could just catch sight of him at the Mayers' place, casually stuffing letters into the box. Maybe Karen could suggest starting on her side of the street from now on and see if that solved the postman's mail mix-ups.

A minute later, the mailman approached the Scavos' house. To Karen's surprise, the door opened and Lynette stepped out onto the porch to speak with him. She was still in her bathrobe and her hair was pulled back in that sloppy manner of which she was so fond. Karen sighed, impatient for her chance to yell at the mailman, but instantly perked up when she realized Lynette was just as furious as she. She wasn't calmly talking with the mailman; she was out-in-out warring with him. Karen grinned, delighted with the turn of events. Two scoldings in one day would certainly teach the incompetent postal worker a thing or two about good service.

The postman began to walk away, clearly fed up with whatever Lynette said, but she stepped off her porch after him. In two strides she caught up to him, grabbing him by the elbow and forcing him to turn around. Before Karen could understand what was happening, Lynette's arm swung up and she punched the man firmly in the jaw. Karen gasped and abruptly stood up, torn between the inclination to hide in her house or cross the street to congratulate Lynette.

As the mailman swore and stumbled away from the Scavos' property, Lynette's attention veered across the street. Karen froze like a deer in the headlights as Lynette's gaze settled on her. For a moment they stared at one another, and then Lynette broke the spell to cross the street.

Even if she could keep up with the mailman, Lynette was too slow to cross the street before Karen could get into her house. For a moment she considered fleeing the scene, but she had geared up for a fight this morning. Since Lynette had already taken care of the mailman, Karen had no choice but to take care of Lynette.

"Nice right hook," she called out as Lynette approached. "Have you been practicing that?"

Lynette ignored her, stopping mere feet in front of Karen and crossing her arms over her very pregnant belly. Somehow punching the mailman made her stance seem more formidable. "Alright, McCluskey, where's my mail?"

Karen mimicked her neighbor's pose and glared at Lynette. "Excuse me?"

"My mail. That moronic mailman said he put it in our box yesterday and you're the only one on this street who would take it. So where is it?"

"Come back in a few days. Maybe I'll have it then."

Lynette took a step forward, encroaching on Karen's personal space. "Look, McCluskey, it's been a really bad week. Yesterday was my last day of work in the foreseeable future, that mailman had the gall to say I'm losing my mind because I'm pregnant, and I'm going to scream if I don't have these kids sometime in the next couple of days. So tell me. Where. Is. My. Mail?"

Despite knowing what a risk it was, Karen couldn't stand not to have the last word. Especially when dealing with this hotheaded young woman. Bracing herself for a punch, she said, "Check the trash. I might have seen it there."

Lynette's mouth dropped open and Karen smirked. She hadn't felt so pleased with herself in quite some time. She patted Lynette on the shoulder. "Good luck squeezing out those kids." Leaving Lynette speechless, Karen turned and went into the house without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own anything in relation to _Desperate Housewives_, especially the blurb of dialogue I borrowed to serve as an intro.

**Chapter Summary: **The problems of the morning are the same as the night before. A post-ep for "Never Judge a Lady by Her Lover." Takes place the night before the end voiceover tag.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Three:  
**

**Night before the Morning Coffee**

_**Mary Alice: **__On this street the day begins with a cup of coffee. Some drink it while recalling a lover they once cared for. Some pour it thinking of the boss they must lie to. Others sip it contemplating a man they might be in love with.

* * *

_

Lynette gave Gaby a quick hug as Carlos practically carried Tom to their car. "Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

"For sitting with Tom while Carlos and I wrapped things up with Henderson." Lynette fidgeted for a moment and added, "And for not slapping him for talking about your boobs at dinner."

"Hey, a compliment's a compliment, right?"

Lynette smiled. "Thanks."

Gaby nodded and squeezed her hand. "Carlos," she called, "I'll meet you at the car."

Carlos waved his free hand back in Gaby's direction and the girls parted ways, Lynette moving swiftly to catch up with the men. She managed to find her keys and unlock the car just as Carlos approached the passenger's side.

"There you go, buddy," said Carlos, depositing Tom into the car.

"Thanks, Carlos," said Lynette. She gave him a brief smile as he walked around the car and she stepped towards Tom so she could get him buckled in. Before she could even bend down, though, she heard Carlos call her name. "Yeah?" she said, leaning one arm against the car door.

Carlos stepped closer to the other side of her car and flashed a smile she had seen from him many times before. She had never had a good association with that grin. Across the parking lot she could see Gaby tapping her foot impatiently. "Look, Lynette, I wasn't going to say anything tonight, but I might as well get it out of the way."

"Uh-huh." Lynette nodded even as Tom leaned out of the car to wrap his arms around her waist, his hands settling against her ass and his cheek pressing against her stomach. Lazily she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to concentrate on what Carlos was saying.

"I need you to talk to Tom about his behavior tonight. As much I hate these get-togethers, we're going to have more of them and we can't afford to offend the clients."

"Of course."

"We don't need that kind of liability. I know that…"

Lynette drifted off as Carlos continued on whatever vein he had started. Tom was whispering some quiet nonsense she couldn't quite catch to the babies and they were responding to his voice with some active kicking. She'd felt them move for the first time yesterday morning, but this was the first time for Tom. She could sense when his eyes drifted up to look at her, but she forced herself to concentrate on Carlos.

"So you understand, right?"

"Yes. Definitely. I will talk to Tom."

"Thanks. And thanks for everything tonight. You were great. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Yep."

Carlos finally turned and walked away, but Lynette waited until he was actively engaged with Gaby before bending down into the car. Immediately, Tom pulled her towards him and planted a number of sloppy, warm kisses on her lips. Exhausted, she settled into the car on Tom's lap, resting her hands on his neck and laying her forehead against his. One night and she felt completely spent; how was she going to get away with this for the next six months?

Tom splayed his hand over her stomach and she shut her eyes. She was surprised a moment later when he began to laugh.

"What?" she asked, sitting up so she could look him at him directly.

"Only we could get away with something this crazy."

For a second it crossed her mind to mention that they hadn't entirely gotten away with anything tonight; that she still had a long way to go to convince Carlos that she could do this job; that the lies they were telling were going to get a lot more complicated. But as she looked at Tom's bloodshot eyes and thought about how he'd be sitting through class completely hung-over tomorrow, she could only manage to say, "Thank you."

* * *

By the second red light they hit, Carlos had sighed at least three times and Gaby had grown weary of it. She leaned against the window, the glass cool against her aching head, and prayed that Carlos would resolve whatever was bothering him internally. When he made yet another blustery sound of disgust, though, Gaby had no choice but to respond.

"What's wrong?"

Carlos glanced at her. "What? Nothing. It was just a long night."

"Yeah, but you have lots of long nights. Everything went well, didn't it?"

"I'll find out tomorrow when we meet with Henderson at the office."

Gaby rolled her eyes. "Well with all the butt kissing you and Lynette were doing he better be impressed."

"I'm sure it will be fine. And I already mentioned Tom's behavior to Lynette. I don't know what was going on with him tonight, but it better not happen again." At the words, Gaby sat up straight and raised an eyebrow in Carlos' direction. "What?" he asked.

"Seriously?"

"Gaby, the man was commenting on your boobs. I think that's a sign that he had too much to drink."

"Are you sure you're not still blind?" Carlos shot her a brief look of disgust, but Gaby just shook her head in disbelief. The man could be obtusely unobservant. "Carlos, the reason Tom was wasted was because he drank every glass of wine Henderson poured Lynette. They were passing their glasses under the table all night."

Carlos laughed in a way she knew meant that he wasn't taking her seriously. It felt like the final blow in the horrible past few days and she punched him in the arm to punctuate her displeasure. "Ow!" he whined, rubbing his arm while steering one-handed.

"Stop laughing. I know what I saw. Do you really think Lynette could down most of that bottle of wine and not even be tipsy? This is a woman who once told me that you were hot after she had a few margaritas."

"Wait…what?"

"All I'm saying is that Lynette was dead sober tonight."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't she just drink the wine herself?"

"Maybe she didn't want to get drunk and make an ass out of herself. Maybe she didn't want to offend your client by refusing to drink that slop he was pawning off as wine. Maybe she's pregnant. I don't know."

"Gaby!"

"Okay, yeah, that last one is a bit of a stretch. I just think that for whatever reason Lynette didn't want to drink and Tom took the hit for her. Who cares anyway, as long as the meeting goes well tomorrow?"

"I care. Tom used to be in the business. Whatever may have been going on, he should know better." Carlos gave a long-suffering sigh, and Gaby resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. "Business is business, friends are friends, and family is family and it's much better when they don't mix. Tonight all three did, so something was bound to go wrong."

"Are you saying you shouldn't have given Lynette the promotion?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Lynette has a great head for business. She knows how to handle herself. But we're also friends and you can't be friends in a business situation. Look what happened with Lucy." Gaby covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile; she still considered that a win. "All I'm saying is that even though I weighed the pros and cons of this as best I could, I still have a feeling it might all blow up in my face."

"I think it will all be fine."

"We'll see."

Gaby leaned against the car window again, not in the mood to continue the conversation. They'd argued enough in the past few days. The entire series of events felt like déjà vu; she was twenty-seven again, in love with a business-obsessed, closed-off man, and only found brief moments of happiness in a tryst with her gardener. Only now she had two kids, an affair wasn't even close to an option, and her only escape was her memories.

* * *

Bree hated her guest bedroom.

The curtains were too dark. The mirror above the dresser was too ornate. The closet door squeaked when she opened it. The carpet wasn't soft enough on her feet. Every night she spent entombed there she found another reason to dislike the room; another garish error in decorating judgment she had made.

Tonight she contemplated the paint. She and Rex had left it white when they moved in, but once she and Orson began to redecorate, they'd decided to paint it off-white. At the time, the choice had been ideal. She remembered painting the room with Orson, laughing as he accidentally smeared off-white paint down his cheek and smiling about how daring she'd felt. Staring up at it now, she felt disgusted by how boring the choice was; how safe.

The metaphor for her life was not lost on her.

Perhaps she'd redecorate.

Bree closed her eyes and imagined the infinite possibilities for the room. Maybe she'd nix the carpet altogether and work with hardwood. Put down a gorgeous hand-woven throw. The comforter on the bed now was a pale blue, but maybe she'd go with a richer chocolate brown, accented with some gold pillows. And the walls, the walls could be red; a dark, warm, bold red. She let the image settle in her mind, turning it over and placing knickknacks and artwork throughout the room. Perhaps tomorrow she'd go look at paint samples. She could make her imaginary room a reality and finally be able to sleep without nitpicking every poor choice she'd made.

Opening her eyes, Bree reached for the phone on the nightstand and dialed Karl's cell phone. Even though he wouldn't understand, even though she was calling late at night to explain something so seemingly inconsequential, she had to tell him about her plans for the bedroom. She had to show him that in some way—big or small—he'd changed her.

But Karl never picked up.

Bree frowned as she hung up the phone, and shut off the light to hide the off-white walls. Real or imaginary, rooms all looked the same in the dark. Maybe it didn't matter one way or another if she did redecorate. She didn't know for sure that she'd love it.

In fact, maybe she'd hate the room no matter what it looked like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ is in no way, shape or form mine. I'm just playing. I especially don't own the blurb of dialogue I borrowed to serve as an intro.

**Chapter summary: **Karl talks things over with Julie. A post-ep for "The God-Why-Don't-You-Love-Me Blues."

**A/n: **Thanks to my reviewers! I appreciate the feedback!

**Coda**

a story by **Ryeloza**

**Four:  
**

**A Father's Daughter**

_**Julie: **__I'm not perfect anymore. That perfect daughter you remember, who was always there when you needed her, who held everything together when you were falling apart: she's grown up. And she's going to make mistakes._

Karl flipped open his cell phone to check the time and sighed when he saw that it read nine fifty-nine. Bree had given him a ten o'clock cut-off for weeknight hook-ups and Julie had still not so much as flitted an eyelid open; even if he texted Bree now he was not leaving the hospital any time soon. On top of that, his new babysitter had an eleven o'clock curfew on school nights. For the tenth time, Karl made a mental note to hire a full-time nanny; for the tenth time, the fact slipped his mind mere minutes later.

It really was a shame that he wasn't meeting up with Bree that night. She was so uptight that nailing her until she loosened up relaxed him in a way that nothing else could. He'd never been with another woman who was coiled so tightly and that, even more than her married status, made the sex the most exciting he'd ever had. Today he particularly could have used the respite. Despite beginning the day with the happy news that Julie was awake, he'd had two subsequently shrill calls from Susan, first wailing about Julie's decision making skills and then cursing him out for setting a bad example.

Yes, he really could have used a good roll in the hay about now.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and then laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back in the chair. It was easy to ignore all of Susan's postulating about Julie's life when he just watched her sleep. Snoring softly, she looked just as innocent as she had the day she was born. He could still remember the day: the hysterical phone call from Susan; arriving just in time after driving several hours to get home; holding Julie for the first time and wondering how the hell he was going to ever be a good father. Maybe he hadn't been. Not if Julie was doing the things Susan claimed.

Happily interrupting his reminiscence, Julie rolled onto her side and slowly opened her eyes, blinking several times. "Dad?" she said, her voice crackling with sleep the way it had when he used to carry her back to her room after she'd had a nightmare.

"Hey, baby girl."

Julie rubbed her eye and yawned. "What time is it?"

"Around ten."

"At night?"

"Yep. Been waiting around here all evening just to see you open your pretty eyes. How are you feeling?"

Julie shrugged. "Okay." She fiddled with the edge of her sheet, studying it intently instead of looking at him. "I guess you talked to Mom, huh?"

"Yeah, well, your mom always was a talker. Feelings this, blah, blah, blah. Emotions that, blah, blah, blah. Karl, you're a lying, cheating dog, blah, blah, blah. She doesn't mince words, does she?"

"No." Julie gave him a ghost of a smile that lasted all of two seconds. "She's pretty pissed at me."

Karl shook his finger at her. "And swearing too. Wait until I tell her."

"Dad."

"Okay. Okay. Joking aside. You can talk to your old dad. What's going on, Jules?"

"I dropped out of med school."

With a shrug and a smile, Karl echoed her whispered tone, saying, "I did too."

Julie rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dad. I thought we were going to be serious."

Karl raised his hands defensively. "I am serious, kiddo. Well, okay, maybe not full-out med school, but I did drop my pre-med major as an undergrad. I was four semesters in and I decided it wasn't for me. I figured out I had better things to do with this silky voice of mine."

"How did I never know this?"

"Eh. What kid wants to hear about their parents' college years? The point is it's okay to change your mind. You're allowed to decide that you want to do something else with your life."

"Yeah, but that's the difference, right? You knew what you wanted to do. Here I am with a degree from Princeton in biology and I'm waiting tables and living at home."

"Okay, maybe it's not ideal…"

Julie crossed her arms and gave him the _you're crazy_ look that her mother had perfected. There was so much of Susie in Julie; he was surprised that in her even the annoying quirks still made him smile. "Why are you not flipping out about this?" she asked. "I expected a bigger reaction."

Karl sighed; Susan had yelled the same thing, nearly word-for-word, earlier on the phone. "Julie, you're so much like your mom."

"Thanks a lot."

"Ah, come on now, don't be like that. She may be laying on the guilt in that way only she can, but you know you still love her."

"She still expects me to be this perfect little girl! Like some kind of low-maintenance car that performs exactly the way she wants. It's not me."

"No one expects you to be perfect."

"Mom does. Do you know I was never even that interested in science? Remember how in seventh grade I was getting all those bad grades in biology and Mom would always sigh and look disappointed. Well after you left bringing up my grade was the only thing I could think of to do to cheer her up. And it worked. I brought home an A on my final and it was the first time I'd seen her smile in weeks. So I just kept it up and kept it up to the point where I deluded myself into thinking it was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Guess what? Turns out it wasn't. So I decide to finally stop fooling myself and Mom's looking at me with that same frown she gave me when I was twelve. So you tell me who isn't expecting me to be perfect!"

"Julie, I'm sorry. I know the divorce was hard on you."

"What do you know? You were busy screwing anything in a skirt!" Julie turned away from him as her eyes welled up with tears and Karl sighed.

"Is that what all of this is about, Julie? Getting back at your mom and me?"

"No. It's about what I want. It's about finally doing what makes me happy."

"And being with a married man…that makes you happy?"

Julie turned and glared at him, and Karl realized too late that he had put his foot in his mouth. "I don't know, Dad. Does kissing Mrs. Hodge make _you_ happy?"

Karl nodded slowly. "So you remember that, huh?"

"Yeah. I do. So don't even start in on me, Dad. You may see a lot of Mom in me, but all I see is you."

"Fine. That's fine, Julie. You're allowed to call me out. And I'm not going to belittle you with explanations; you're clearly old enough now to understand how these things go. But I still want to know: did being with this man make you happy?"

Julie swiped at the tears now pouring down her cheeks. "Yes. No. Yes." She took a shuddery breath. "I mean, it just never works out, does it?

Unexpectedly, Karl felt a lump form in his own throat. He thought of Bree, at home now with her husband, probably not even thinking of him. "No, sweetie. I guess it doesn't."

Karl stood up and scooted onto the end of Julie's bed, pulling her into a hug. She continued to cry, heaving deep sobs, against his shoulder and he ran a hand over the back of her head. "It's okay, honey," he whispered. "It's all going to be okay."

But Karl knew as well as Julie did that it really wasn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I still don't have anything to do with _Desperate Housewives_. The dialogue at the beginning was borrowed to serve as an intro.

**Chapter Summary: ** The men of Wisteria Lane don't see their wives quite the way others do. A post-ep for Everybody Ought to Have a Maid. Takes place the day and night of Susan shooting Katherine.

**Coda**

a story by **Ryeloza**

**Five:**

**The Understanding Nature of Men**

_**Tom: **__And that is my job as her husband: to make her feel safe.

* * *

_

When the phone rang, Carlos prayed it was the call he had been waiting on for an hour now so that he could leave work and get home in time to see the tail end of Juanita's party. Instances such as this, where he was one of a handful of people stuck at work on a Saturday, missing his daughter's seventh birthday party, were when he felt the overwhelming urge to give it all up and go find a job with normal hours.

As he answered the phone and heard Gaby woefully moan, "The monkey hospitalized the clown!" he knew that he'd probably never be so fortunate as to indulge his whims.

"What?" he said to Gaby. There was a knock on his open office door and Carlos looked up to see Jillian from accounting standing at the door with a stack of papers that undoubtedly needed his signature. He beckoned her in and then held up a finger, asking her to wait one moment.

"The monkey I hired for the party went insane and attacked the clown! It took a tranquilizer to put the monkey out and now the clown is in the hospital and Juanita's party is ruined!"

"Are the kids okay?"

"Yeah. Juanita barricaded herself in the bouncy house and Celia played dead. The rest ran for the hills. But what am I going to do, Carlos? No mother is going to let her kid within a hundred foot radius of our house after this!"

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Gaby, I'm sorry things didn't go well today, but can we discuss this when I get home tonight?"

"Fine!" Gaby snapped. "I'll go console the girls with the entire sheet cake that remains from this disaster!" A dial tone rang in his ear and Carlos rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone. Inevitably Gaby would calm down; hopefully by the time he got home from work.

"Sorry," he said to Jillian. "There was a slight catastrophe at my daughter's birthday party."

Jillian nodded. "They never go as planned. I forgot to pick up the cake for my son's once. But those problems are never as big as they seem at the time."

"My wife hired a monkey who apparently attacked the clown in front of all of the kids."

"Oh. Well that probably would qualify as a catastrophe." She handed the papers in her hands to Carlos. "These all need your signature before the end of the day."

"No problem."

"As you sign maybe you can come up with a plan for how to keep your kids away from monkeys and clowns. You know, avoid bringing up the trauma." Jillian laughed.

"I'm sure my kids are anything but traumatized," said Carlos wryly. "They're resilient little girls."

Jillian nodded. "Oh, I know. Kids can bounce back from so much. But, you know, your mom forgetting the cake is one thing; a monkey attacking a clown is quite another. Some things take longer to get over. I mean, I know my son probably wouldn't be able to look at a monkey the same way again."

Carlos looked up from the papers, annoyed. Gaby had been getting a lot of flack over the past few days about her parenting skills and he'd brushed it aside like a gnat. Personally he didn't care what the other mothers thought, so long as his girls were happy and healthy. Now he could see what had made Gaby so irate.

"I don't know how your son would react, but my kids are going to be fine. Trust me." And as he spoke the words, he knew absolutely that they were true. His kids were fighters, just like their mom. She'd made sure of that.

Jillian seemed to realize she had misstepped at some point and she nodded and left his office without another word on the subject.

* * *

The table was elegant. Orson had spent a painstaking hour laying out the lace tablecloth so it hung a perfect eight inches off of each side of the table, setting out the china impeccably, and choosing the best romantic white candles to flicker in the dimmed lighting. All day he'd worked to create a magical dinner to accompany his table: chicken breasts with mushrooms and artichokes, roasted potatoes and a raspberry tart for dessert. He had created the ideal romantic dinner setting.

Two hours later, Bree was still not home. The dinner was now cold and lifeless, the candles burned to stumps, and the gorgeous table seemed to mock him as he sat alone. Everything was ruined and Bree had not so much as called to mention that she wouldn't be home for dinner. Orson wanted to cry, but somehow Bree's thoughtlessness had even stolen his energy to do that.

Orson supposed the intelligent thing to do—what any other man would do—would be to cut his losses and get out of this marriage while he still at least had some dignity. The very thought of finally giving up on Bree, though, made him feel as though he'd sink into a depression he would be unable to dig out of. At least this way, by making foolish romantic dinners, showing her he still cared, and reminding her that he did understand her in ways no one else ever had or could, he maintained hope.

There was a knock on the door, but Orson ignored it, not in any mood to socialize. Unfortunately, he had not counted on the visitor to let himself in, and when Andrew walked into the dining room a minute later, Orson stood up, shamefaced at his obviously botched attempt to be romantic. Andrew stared at the table for a moment and then looked up at Orson, his look ambivalent with pity and amusement.

_I'm nothing but a sad clown_, thought Orson.

"Sorry, Orson," said Andrew. "I locked my keys in the car and Alex isn't home yet. I know Mom keeps a spare."

"Yes. Of course." Orson walked towards the kitchen even though he knew Andrew was capable of getting the key himself. He couldn't stand to be alone in the dining room with the boy for another moment though.

"So where is Mom anyway?" asked Andrew as he followed Orson into the kitchen.

"I have no idea. She hasn't called. I assume she's still at work."

Andrew furrowed his brow. "We had a luncheon today, but that was over hours ago. She took the rest of the day off."

Orson turned slowly, clutching Andrew's key in his fist. "It's almost nine o'clock. Where else would she be?"

A hundred thousand scenarios slipped through Orson's mind in a matter of seconds, but he was left with a single image in his mind: him in Monique's bed, laughing and kissing her without a thought in the world for Alma. Was Bree in some strange man's apartment now, forgetting him as easily?

Andrew clearly had similar thoughts, as he sighed and shook his head. "Look, I know it's not really my business, but you and Mom have been having problems for a long time now. I thought Mom had decided to give you another chance, but now it looks like—"

"It doesn't look like anything. I'm sure your mother had errands to run and lost track of the time."

"Orson, why don't you just move on? Give Mom what she clearly wants."

Orson shook his head. Sitting in the dark in self-pity for so long had befuddled his mind. Bree would not have an affair. She was too moral for that. But passive aggressive behaviors like forgetting to call about dinner and purposely staying out late were completely within her realm of capability.

She would not cheat.

Orson handed Andrew the key. "Anything else you need, Andrew?"

Andrew smirked, and Orson wasn't sure if it was a sign of loathing or respect for not giving up on Bree. "Nope," he said. "Tell Mom I said hello."

The second Andrew was out of the door, Orson cleaned up every last remain of his attempt at wooing his wife. When Bree returned home an hour later, there was no outward sign of a man whose life was in shambles. If there was one thing he had learned from his wife it was that everything could be okay again.

So long as he kept up the pretense.

* * *

Tom shut the bedroom door softly and waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light before he crept towards the bed. With such erratic work hours as of late, Lynette usually ended up in bed as early as possible on nights she didn't have a late dinner meeting or things to finish up around the office. He wished she would take things easier, but the woman was a single-minded force; she'd keep going until the bitter end.

Gently, Tom pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and slipped in next to Lynette; he was surprised a moment later when she rolled onto her side to face him, very much awake. "Hi," she said quietly, folding her hands under her cheek. "Are you all studied out?"

Completely, thought Tom, though he didn't say so aloud. He'd kept quiet about how difficult going back to school had been, but the pressure was beginning to take its toll. It was hard to focus his mind on lectures and language when he'd been nearly constantly worried about Lynette since she'd announced the pregnancy. There was no way he could bring himself to put that burden on her though, so he just said, "I'll be glad when midterms are over."

Lynette nodded, and then in a complete turn-around her shoulders began to shake and she started to cry. Bigger breasts and morning sickness were pregnancy symptoms he could deal with; he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to these abrupt mood swings. "Honey?" He reached out to wrap his arms around her and they wound up in a slightly seated position with her head buried in his chest. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Tom resisted the urge to chuckle by settling his lips against her head. Her hair smelled like her jasmine-scented shampoo, a far cry from the sweet, strawberry-smelling kind she'd used when they'd first met. The first time he had ever seen her cry he'd held her in bed like this while she explained away a scar on her back as the result of her mother scraping her with a broken beer bottle in a fit of rage. It had been a revelation; the strongest woman he'd ever met still needed protected. He'd realized he was in love with her that night. Now, all over again, he wanted to stamp out whatever caused her this pain.

Tom lifted his head, appropriately subdued. "Is this still about Roy?" he asked quietly.

"He came over and apologized while I was taking out the trash tonight. He told me you talked to him and that he understands now."

Tom's stomach sank and he stilled the hands that had been rubbing Lynette's back. "Oh?"

Lynette took a couple of shaky breaths. "You went over and told him off even though you thought I was overreacting. I'm just so lucky to have you."

"Lynette…"

"I'm so afraid everything is going to blow up in my face: my promotion, my friendship with Gaby…You're the only one I know will still be here when this is all over."

Tom kissed the top of her head. Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. "Of course I will be. I will always, always be here. No matter what. And everything else will just work itself out. It always does."

Words weren't much, especially for someone like Lynette, but Tom felt her relax after he said them. These were the moments others like Roy could never hope to understand: Lynette needed control, but Tom was also the only one she lost control in front of. And that, more than deciding where a birdhouse went or who decided what was for dinner, made him feel like a man.

* * *

"Mike!"

Mike jumped about a foot in the air at the sound of Susan hissing his name, but recovered in the time it took Susan to shush him. She was sitting in the kitchen in the dark, curled up in one of the chairs in that cat-like way she had about her, chewing nervously on her lip. Mike set down his tools and came into the kitchen, sitting down in the chair next to Susan.

"Susan? Why are you sitting alone in the dark kitchen?"

Susan squeaked out a moan and buried her head against her knees. In an attempt to coax out of her whatever tragedy had befallen them now, he rubbed the back of her neck gently. Whenever she approached him like this with news, he knew that it was one of those out-of-this-world, this-could-only-happen-to-Susan moments. More often than not, they entertained him as much as they worried Susan.

"Okay, look," she said. "It was an accident. Just remember that."

"Susan?"

"I shot Katherine!"

Mike dropped his hand from her neck and Susan popped her head up abruptly. "What?" he said.

"I shot Katherine. But only a little! It was more like a scratch than a shot!"

"Susan!" Mike stood up and stared down at her, shocked. Somehow as much as he always thought he was prepared for the things that came out of Susan's mouth, he never actually was.

"Look, it's not as bad as it seems. She was skulking around outside of our house and Julie had a gun, which of course I took off of her, and then all of a sudden it just kind of went off and the next thing I knew Katherine was lying on the grass. Bleeding. But she's fine! Fine! She didn't even have to go to the hospital!"

"You shot Katherine?"

Susan looked up at him with big, fearful eyes. "Yes."

"And Julie had a gun?"

"Yes."

"Where in the world did Julie get a gun?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me."

Mike sat back down and ran a hand through his hair. He'd always enjoyed how much adventure and drama Susan brought into his life with so little of the actual danger. It gave him a rush he'd needed since he was a kid without all of the consequences. Even this, as serious as it was, was still like the children's version of a shooting.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No." Mike squeezed her big toe and actually managed a small chuckle. "No."

"And you believe it wasn't on purpose?"

"Susan, you can't even kill a spider."

Instead of smiling, Susan got a strange, furtive look on her face. It lasted only a moment, and Mike couldn't begin to decipher it. At past midnight, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. What would life with Susan be, after all, without the surprises?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ never has been and never will be mine. I especially don't own the dialogue that serves as an intro.

**Chapter Summary: ** Rules, realizations, and ramifications; a drabble for each of the women. Post-ep for Don't Walk on the Grass. Takes place before the end Mary Alice narration.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Rules, Realizations and Ramifications**

_**Mary Alice: **__There are so many rules in this world. That's why we must start learning them when we are children. We are told very clearly: don't say bad words; you're not allowed to cheat on tests; it's not nice to lie to your friends; you shouldn't covet a man who isn't yours; and you shouldn't betray a man who is. So we grow up and still we break the rules, completely forgetting that if someone catches us we will be punished._

One

They haven't had a poker game in two weeks, but Gaby is almost disappointed when her friends arrive at her house as scheduled. She sees them as the mothers she will never be: Bree, firm and forceful and faithful; Susan, always ready to dole out a hug or cry along; Lynette, understanding, patient and forgiving. It seems impossible to be around the pillars of motherhood when inside her deepest fear has been realized, but she has no choice. So she deals out cards with a forced smile on her face and pretends that her daughter is not upstairs hating her.

Two

Katherine likes to keep the lights in her house on as long as possible these days. The darkness frightens her in a childlike way reminiscent of monsters under the bed. Only on this street the nightmares are real, lurking about in the forms of traitorous friends and fiancé-stealing whores, ready to pounce at any moment. Even Angie has betrayed her; Katherine saw her leave Susan's earlier. Susan. The whore. Katherine rubs her sore arm wondering if the neighbors would think her crazier if she played darts with a picture of Susan tacked to the wall. Not that anyone visits anymore.

Three

Orson is drinking iced tea in the living room when Bree gets home. She stands in the foyer, watching as he takes a sip and turns a page in his book. It's so normal. It's everything she wanted when she promised herself to Orson. When she thought perfection was a man who always had a coaster ready on the end table. Now she finds herself seriously considering life with a man who is everything she never wanted but maybe secretly needed all the time. He says he can change, but she already knows that Karl will never use a coaster.

Four

Tom doesn't like to go to bed angry, but she's perfectly content to stew until the cows come home. Even on the days they have their worst fights, Lynette knows without question that at some point Tom will make an overture of peace even if he still won't admit he's wrong. She's never sure that she'll accept his offer until it happens though. Tonight the moment comes in the still dark of their bedroom when half-asleep she feels Tom slide his arms around her and tug her towards his chest, holding her like there's no tomorrow. She doesn't pull away.

Five

That night Susan dreams. She dreams of the weight of a gun in her hand, the smell of smoke and the power of a bullet whizzing through the air as glass shatters and a scream breaks the silence of the neighborhood. Outside the window Katherine lies dying on the grass, prone and unable to speak, already nearly a corpse. There is a poetic loveliness to her dream and when Susan opens her eyes she wishes it was reality. Because over and over all she can see now is Katherine's hands closing around her daughter's neck, slowly squeezing out her life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Desperate Housewives_. Not one little bit of it.

**Chapter Summary: **Mary Alice gets some company while she's watching the girls this week. Post-ep of sorts for "Careful the Things You Say."

**A/n: **A little cracky this week. Hopefully you all still enjoy.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Seven:**

**Beyond the Grave**

"You know, I don't understand why you put a bullet in your brain if you were so attached to everybody down there. None of the rest of us left voluntarily, but we don't spend even one hundredth of the time looking down there that you do."

"Those people are my friends."

"Correction: _were_ your friends. Those people _were_ your friends. Jeez, Mary Alice, Rex has a wife and two kids down there, but you don't see him spending all his spare time being a peeping Tom. He's too busy with that tennis tournament he entered with Martha Huber. Which is probably a lot more entertaining than whatever the hell Susan Mayer is up to."

"Susan is comically misunderstood, Edie. You never did understand that."

"Susan's a twit. That's only become more apparent in death. Let me guess: right now she's whining to someone about something no one else cares about."

"For your information, she's in jail."

"Holy shit, really? What did she do?"

"Huh, now who's concerned about what's going on down there?"

"Hey, this is a distinct opportunity to see Susan in one of the three places I always fantasized about. Now granted, this isn't as thrilling as a coffin or hell, but I'll take what I can get."

"Edie!"

"Let me guess, she finally snapped and killed Mike in a fit of jealous rage? Ooh, or maybe Karl. She always carried a torch for him, even if she won't admit it."

"She shot Katherine, but it was completely accidental! And the arrest was nothing more than spiteful vengeance. Her incarceration is completely ironic!"

"Yeah, sure. And I was a virgin on my wedding day. Shove over, let me get a look at old Susan in the clink."

"Edie, don't!"

"Wow, that is so not Susan in the slammer. Mary Alice, I never knew you were so perverted!"

"I am not! I always look away before any pants-less action!"

"Bah, what's the fun in that? Who is that anyway? Bree?"

"It's just a dream, Edie. She called off sex with Karl weeks ago."

"With _Karl_? As in Karl Mayer? Good God!"

"For your information, he's exactly what Bree needs right now. Orson just isn't right for Bree anymore."

"It's the years of pent up horniness, isn't it? I always knew that woman was wound too tightly. And she finally snapped and thirty years of repressed sexuality exploded at once. Well, Karl's a good choice to get down and dirty with. Just look at him without his boxers!"

"That's it! I'm changing the picture!"

"Ah come on, Mary Alice, it's not anything I haven't seen before."

"You should respect Bree's privacy."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

"You know, you act like you're superior, but I've seen you looking down there before."

"Only when they were talking about me. But no one's mentioned me in months. I lost interest. Who are we looking at now? Is that Lynette?"

"Yes."

"Pregnant again?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Been there. Done that. Move on. Who's left anyway?"

"Gaby."

"Oh yeah. What's she up to?"

"Eh. I've had enough Gaby this week. Let's go watch the tennis match."

"She's having sex with Carlos, isn't she?"

"Let's go, Edie."

"Don't think I won't look myself!"

"I'm leaving."

"You always were a stick in the mud."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I have absolutely no claim to _Desperate Housewives_. I most especially don't own the dialogue I borrowed for the intro.

**Chapter Summary: **Lynette seeks advice from an unlikely source after her confrontation with Carlos. A post-ep for "The Coffee Cup."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Eight:**

**Fight or Flight**

_**Carlos: **Except I need you in Miami. And I don't need you here. Not anymore._

_**Lynette: **Carlos, I am sorry. I know I should have told you when I first found out. Believe me I wish I had now, but you can't fire me for being pregnant._

_**Carlos: ** I'm not firing you, Lynette. I'm offering you a promotion. If you choose to turn it down and quit instead I can't stop you; all I can do is say good luck. And congratulations._

Lynette stares out of the window at the darkened sky, lit only by pinpricks of light from the buildings surrounding her mother's retirement complex. She'd had no clear intention of coming to her mother's after work and even now she wonders if she should turn tail and leave. Honestly, she can't remember a time after she was four that she's turned to her mother for help with a problem; and she's fairly sure that now isn't the best time to start.

Abruptly the door swings open and Lynette turns away from the window to look at her mother. She's already wearing a nightgown and bathrobe and Lynette finds the sight slightly depressing. Immediately her mother quashes any flicker of guilt by opening her mouth and saying loudly enough for the neighbors to hear: "Jeez, Lynette, you look bigger every time I see you. Are you sure it's just twins?"

"Mom, please, I'm not in the mood tonight."

Her mother raises a suspicious eyebrow and stands back to allow her entrance to the room. Inside, Lynette shimmies out of her coat and eases into a chair, grateful to be off of her feet again. Her mother closes the door and crosses her arms over her chest.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing is up with me."

"Nah, you've got that same look you used to get as a kid. That one you'd get when you were sick but you still wanted to go to school so you wouldn't be stuck in the house with me. So spill it, kiddo. What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to decide if keeping this pregnancy a secret is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"You mean Tom didn't know? What, did he go blind and lose his sex drive all at once? Because _that_ would certainly explain the look on your face."

Lynette rolls her eyes. "Not Tom, my boss. I didn't tell my boss that I was pregnant. He just found out and he's furious. He wants to transfer me to Florida."

"Well you're not moving to Florida."

"Obviously."

"So what's the alternative?"

"I quit. He said that there's no longer a place for me at the company."

"And what's the other option for stupidest thing you've ever done?"

"The time I let Lydia dye my hair during that brief stint she had in beauty school."

Her mother picks up the drink sitting on her nightstand and downs half of it in one gulp. "Yep," she says, "that would win as the stupidest."

"Mom, please. I'm in big trouble this time and for some ungodly reason I ended up here to discuss it with you. Can you please be rational for once?"

"You want rational, baby girl? Fine. Your boss sounds like a dick. I didn't tell my boss that I was pregnant with you until I went into labor. And he still didn't care."

"Mom, you were a barmaid at a club called Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I don't think it's quite the same thing."

"Who cares? You're what, five months into this thing?"

"Four."

"And most young people think it's kosher to keep it to themselves until at least the second trimester, let alone women who are your age and knocked up. You didn't have any obligation to let him know."

"But I didn't tell him because I knew he wouldn't give me the promotion if I did. And he knows that's why."

"Fine then, Lynette. Beat yourself up about it. I don't give a rat's ass. But don't think for a second he has the moral high ground. If he would have denied you a promotion just because your husband has super sperm that defy the laws of birth control then he's still an asshole." Her mother punctuates the speech by downing the rest of her drink and pouring another.

Lynette nods, for once bolstered by her mom's crass words. "You're right."

"Say that again. I didn't quit catch it."

Despite the implied dig, Lynette repeats her words. Mostly because it feels good to admit that she's not entirely in the wrong here. "You're right, Mom. Carlos is an asshole. But none of that really matters because the truth is that I'm still going to have no job, no prospects and a husband and six kids to support."

"God, Lynette, stop whining. I didn't raise you to be a whiner. I raised you to be a fighter. So start standing up for yourself. He can't force you to go to Florida. He can't force you to quit. And if he fires you, sue him. No one's in a more sympathetic position than a woman who's about to be saddled with six kids. Or possibly eight judging by the size of you."

Lynette rolls her eyes and runs a hand over her stomach. These kids may have gotten her into the mess, but she feels as though the three of them are in this together now. "Wow, Mom," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "you actually made me feel better."

Her mother shrugs. "There's a first time for everything."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Do I really still need this? Nothing has changed in the past week.

**Chapter Summary: **A brief discussion on color in the girls' lives. A post-ep for "Would I Think of Suicide?"

**Coda**

a story by **Ryeloza**

**Nine:**

**A Brief Discussion on Color**

_**Red**_

Red…red…

Red is her favorite color.

The rusty sunset of her hair that whipped into her eyes on a windy day as she laughed and laughed with her first boyfriend outside of school and then suddenly he kissed her while her eyes were still open.

The crimson of her sexy pumps that she wore on her first day of work at that slipshod little dentist's office where she answered phones all day and wrote the appointments into a depressingly mundane date book.

The raspberry of a childhood dress that swirled and twirled as she tap danced across the kitchen floor because her Mary Janes made the perfect clap-clap sound against the wood.

Red is a color of passion and lust and fire and anger and burning, burning, burning from the inside out until she feels like she'll nearly burst into flame.

The frightening scarlet of her blood as it drips onto the floor.

_**Blue**_

"Your eyes are the color of a sea after a storm," a boyfriend told her once. She'd never seen the sea for herself so she didn't really know but she smiled and kissed him and maybe even let him stick his tongue into her mouth even though she'd never done that before.

Turquoise was the color of the blanket she hid underneath when her mother was drunk or screaming or both and she trembled by herself until her sisters climbed into bed with her and then she had to be brave because she was the oldest and the oldest couldn't shiver in fear like a frozen child in the cold, blue winter.

She had two boys and then a third and painted their bedroom the soft blue of pudgy babies and happy, clear skies and bluebirds and other warm and lovely ideas. But years passed and the painted walls were marred by messy fingerprints and crayons and a mishap with stickers that won't come off and it became just another moment of reality too crystal clear.

Blue is her happiest moments turned to sorrow and the bittersweet nature of life.

Years later she saw the sea after a storm. It was the blue-gray of sadness and a never-ending build-up of tears that just won't seem to fall. Tears that still won't fall as she packs her belongings into a small box and leaves a job she loved amidst the self-satisfied smirk of her boss.

_**Green**_

The night her mother died she lay under the Christmas tree and looked up into a magical world of pine needles and twinkling lights and baubles so carefully chosen and arranged with loving hands. How lovely, she thought that night, it might be to live in a Christmas tree where life was nothing but beauty perfected and the smell of winter and a sense of love.

Green is such a perfectly content color. The hunter green that goes best with her coloring and the Kelly green of her springtime tablecloth and the olive green leaves printed on her good china.

More than anything else, green is a smell for her: tart apples and pine needles and steamed vegetables. A cornucopia of scents with all sorts of connotations that make her feel so, so, so alive that she could sing.

And the best of all: the smell of freshly cut grass as she finally gets exactly what she wants in the only way she knows possible.

_**White**_

She doesn't like white.

The color of ironic innocence and purity that she wore on her wedding day. The color that forces her to recall a blinding melancholy that she still feels whenever she sees lilies. A color she associates with angels and clouds and heaven and death.

She doesn't like white.

The sheets of her bed were the virginal white of the youth that was stolen from her much too young on the late night her stepfather crept into her bedroom with a leer and the smell of beer on his breath.

And then there was the blinding white of the snow falling down outside her window when she moved to New York and lived in that tiny apartment with no heat.

She doesn't like white.

Stacks and stacks of white paper with inky ants crossing the page that mock her: bills and legal papers and warrants and post-nuptial agreements.

And now lawsuits.

She doesn't like white.

_**Yellow**_

Her mother always said, "Where's my sunny smile?" It was her treatment for everything from a paper cut to heartbreak to death. "Where's my sunny smile?"

The sentiment haunts her to this day.

Everything is supposed to be bright and cheerful in her world. A world where even when things seem their bleakest there is a fuzzy baby chick or a bright smiley face or a daffodil to bring a grin to her face. So she surrounds herself with happy thoughts and thinks, "Where's my sunny smile?"

Over and over she sees things she doesn't want to see. An unfaithful husband and men leaving her and a daughter disappointing her and car accidents and death and people upset or in pain. Her best friend having an affair with her ex.

But it's not a time to cry.

She puts on a sunny smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Summary: **Lee considers himself to be a craftier version of the Grinch and he has no intention to let his heart grow three sizes. All the Whos are going down. Missing moments for "Boom Crunch."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Ten:**

**Jingle Balls**

Lee slammed the front door loudly and when Bob didn't immediately respond he stomped into the living room, growling. Without looking up from the paper, Bob said, "What's wrong?"

"We live in a neighborhood of sexist whores!"

"Oh, God." Bob finally looked up from the paper, but his face read more irritated than irate. "Which hissy fit is this again?"

"The Jingle Belles!"

"Oh, of course. Silly me. So they still won't let you in?"

"I would be a great addition! I already sing better than that old hag Karen McCluskey! But no…Bree 'Not-Even-In-Honor-Of-My-Gay-Son' Hodge won't budge!"

"You tried to manipulate her by playing the gay son card? That's low, Lee. And also irrelevant."

"I know that! But I didn't have any choice!" It was true. Lee had tried to find an in with every woman in the group this year in the hope of getting someone to stand up to the dictator. But even Lynette, whose feathers he could usually ruffle until she was frenzied enough to react, was so indifferent that he couldn't get her to stage a coup on his behalf. "This is discrimination!"

"Lee, it's a half hour of Christmas caroling on a cul-de-sac. Who do you think is watching this besides their husbands and kids?"

"Not the point, Bob!" To Lee's dismay, Bob shrugged and went back to reading his paper, clearly finished listening. As dramatically as he could, Lee turned and stormed out of the room, pausing only for a moment when Bob said mildly, "Don't to anything too outrageous, dear." The comment only further raised Lee's blood pressure and he slammed the door again on his way out. With a scowl he glared at the ladies across the street. They'd taken a break from their rehearsal and were standing around gossiping. They hadn't even invited him to that! Bitches! It was the final straw. After half a decade of rejection, it was time for Lee to take matters into his own hands. There was only one choice: sabotage! And Lee knew exactly how to start.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Lee crossed his arms casually. "Just observing. You're a little flat, Karen. Might want to work on that. Who'd you get to build those risers for you?"

"We've had those risers for years, Lee, which you know perfectly well. You were here when Mike made them. Actually, you were here when he reassembled them the other day too. Remember?"

"Work looks shoddy."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Like you'd know anything about it."

"For your information—"

"I don't care. Go harass someone else."

Lee stuck out his tongue, but Karen just turned and walked over to pick up a bottle of water she'd left on one of the folding tables. "I'll show you who knows how to use a hammer," he muttered under his breath. "Or a screwdriver. Whatever I'll need to make those risers collapse in on themselves." Lee rubbed his hands together with a deliciously evil smirk on his face. This was going to be his finest moment. He'd become a craftier version of the Grinch and he had no intention to let his heart grow three sizes. All the Whos were going down.

At the table, Karen abruptly put down her water bottle and called after Gaby, probably to chastise her for some stupid reason. That was her specialty. But to Lee's delight, she left her Santa hat sitting jauntily on the table. In cartoon-like fashion Lee crept to the table, looking left and right before plucking up the hat and scurrying away. He'd just crossed the street when he heard Karen yell, "Who the hell took my Santa hat?"

* * *

Lee brushed the hair of the doll he'd acquired, trying to give it the same luster that Bree's had in reality. He figured the closer the resemblance the more likely this voodoo thing was to work, though the woman at the store where he'd bought it had said that it didn't matter as long as he had something personal of the victim. Better safe than sorry. Especially since the only personal artifact of Bree's that he'd gotten his hands on was a flower from her front yard. Jollily, Lee threaded the flower into the doll's hair and then fastened a piece of duct tape over her mouth. _Let's see her try to sing now_, he thought.

With wicked glee, Lee threw his head back and began to laugh as malevolently as he could. His Santa hat slipped off his head onto the floor, but Lee just laughed harder. Even his evil genius laugh was musical! "Muahahahaha!" he bellowed.

The lights flicked on and Lee abruptly stopped laughing, snapping his head upright to see Bob standing in the doorway, clearly aghast. Lee snatched his Santa hat off of the floor and placed it back on his head, standing up and attempting to look casual. "Hey, hon, what's up?"

Bob looked from Lee to the elaborate plans lying on the floor and then back to Lee again. Slowly he set his briefcase on the floor and held up his hands; the gesture seemed to mean he was appeasing a lunatic. "Lee, we need to talk. You seem to be taking this Jingle Belles thing a little too far."

Lee gently tried to nudge his plans away with his toe. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you have what looks to be plans to cause the collapse of the risers written out in scarily exact detail and what I'm very afraid is a voodoo doll of Bree Hodge. And…is that Karen McCluskey's missing Santa hat on your head?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bob snatched the hat off of Lee's head and turned it upside-down so the inside showed. To Lee's dismay, Karen had clearly written her name on the tag in permanent black marker. Bob raised a questioning eyebrow and Lee narrowed his eyes. "Damn her!" he hissed.

"Lee, it's done. Hand everything over."

"I deserve a spot in that choir!"

"Sweetie, it's not happening. Face it and move on."

Lee scowled but collected everything off of the floor and piled it into Bob's arms. Reluctantly he cradled the Bree voodoo doll in his arm, and gave Bob a puppy-dog look. "Can't I just…"

"No."

"But she's being such a bi—"

"No."

"Fine!" Lee shoved the doll at Bob and stormed to the door. "But I will heckle their performance and you can't stop me!"

Lee left before he could see Bob roll his eyes.

* * *

There was an odd silence after the plane crashed through Santa's house; the neighborhood seemed to be in complete shock. Lee sensed Bob come up behind him, sweet relief ran through him, and then almost involuntarily he said, "Just so you know, this wasn't part of the plan."

Without comment, Bob wrapped his arms around Lee and hugged him tightly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I guess a new year warrants a new disclaimer. I didn't get _Desperate Housewives_ for Christmas, so I still have absolutely no claim to it. I'm just having fun.

**Chapter Summary: **Carlos tries to help Tom with his grief. A missing moment from "If…"

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Eleven:**

**Grief**

Carlos paused for a moment before he entered the waiting room of the maternity ward. Through the windows he could see Tom sitting still as stone with tears running down his cheeks, and Carlos knew that something had gone wrong. For a moment, he wanted turn around, walk back to Celia's room and tell Gaby to go find out about Lynette and the babies herself. Then he remembered how world-weary and old Gaby had looked under the unnatural lighting of the room with her arms wrapped around their youngest daughter. He had to do this for her. Bracing himself for the worst, Carlos opened the door and walked in. For a second, Tom glanced at him, and then looked back at the wall as though he hadn't really seen Carlos.

"Did you hear anything yet?" Carlos asked quietly. He came over and sat down next to Tom, crossing his arms over his chest and trying his best not to look uncomfortable.

"We lost one of the babies. Lynette is fine. So is the other baby. But we lost one."

Carlos nodded. He had expected worse news as he'd walked in the room; in comparison it was almost a relief to hear this. Almost. "Wow, Tom, I am really sorry to hear that. Really."

Tom didn't respond, instead simply bending so his elbows rested against his legs with his hands cradling his head. Carlos shifted in his seat and resisted the urge to clear his throat.

The day he had found out that Gaby had a miscarriage, Carlos flew into such a rage that he had to be sedated. He had been furious: at the man who had broken into his house; at the world; at God; at Gabrielle for not being more careful; at himself for not being there when she needed him. The moment was an instantaneous surge of indignation and anger with no thought involved.

Carlos was surprised by how calm Tom looked in comparison. Inexplicably, it was almost as if the news made Tom shrink inside of himself; as though his grief had contracted around his heart, squeezing until he could no longer breathe. It made Carlos anxious to look at him.

"Do you want to punch me?"

Tom didn't flinch at the words, didn't even move his head to give Carlos some kind of look. In fact, it appeared that he hadn't even heard what Carlos had said and the thought of that made him even more uncomfortable with the situation. He was about to stand up and leave Tom to his strangely self-contained grief, when he heard his neighbor say, "Yeah."

Startled, Carlos said, "What?"

"Yeah, I want to punch you. I'd love to feel the crack of your jaw under my fist. I'd love to see you with a broken nose or a black eye. I would love to punch you."

Carlos nodded, slapped his hands on his knees and then stood up. This was something he could work with. "Okay. Go ahead. Do it. Punch me in the face."

"What's the point? It's not going to make me feel any better."

Carlos remembered the smell of his own blood as it had run down his hands after he'd ripped open his mattress. He remembered the sting of every cut and the throb of every bruise. He couldn't remember any of that making him feel better about losing his baby. "But it's worth a try," he said aloud. Awkwardly he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and swayed a bit on his feet. Maybe it was confession time. "And maybe I deserve it."

Abruptly, Tom stood. He was mere inches from Carlos and Carlos could see clearly that every tear was gone. The broken look in his eyes had been replaced by something even more unidentifiable, but somehow Carlos knew that even though Tom's fists were clenched that he wasn't going to punch him.

"Someday," Tom said in an oddly ordinary voice, "things are going to go back to normal. Our wives will make up and everyone will go back to being friends. Everything will be all right again. But I just want you to remember for the rest of your life that you don't even deserve breath the same air as my wife. And if you hurt her or threaten her ever again, a lawsuit will be the least of your worries. Now if you'll excuse me." Tom brushed past Carlos and out of the waiting room without glancing back.

That, finally, was something Carlos understood.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I still have no rights to _Desperate Housewives_.

**Chapter Summary: **There were, are, and will be times that they hate themselves. Some more often than others. A post-ep for "You Gotta Get a Gimmick."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Twelve:**

**Hate**

**One**

Sometimes Lynette hates herself.

Fourteen. That is the first age she can recall ever feeling that odd mix of disgust and anger and sadness just for being who she is or doing the things she does. She had just started high school and it was as though the world had opened up to her in terms of possibility: after school activities and older friends with cars and reason after reason after reason to stay far away from her home. But she remembers that in December, right before Christmas, Lydia begged her to go shopping---_please, please, please!_—because she had her own money saved up and still thought that if she just found the right present their mother would show her love. Then, on their way to catch the bus, Lucy reluctantly in tow, her cool friend Maggie pulled up beside her in her brand new car and told her to hop in and with a quick, _Luce, you can handle shopping, right?_ she was in the car, rushing away from her sisters.

And then on Christmas morning Lynette opened an unexpected gift clumsily wrapped, smiled and simpered over the present in an indistinct way and gave Lydia a hug. And that was that.

Except for later when Lucy haughtily informed her that Lydia had spent all of her money on that one gift; _whose love is she trying to buy now?_

So she hated herself.

There are dozens of little things that she remembers about the first time she and Tom had sex: the unforgiving floor of her office beneath her back as Tom pressed scalding kisses against her neck and chest; the feel of his hair beneath her trembling hands; the look in his eyes that she treasured as precious at the time, completely unaware that she'd see that endearing mix of lust and tenderness again and again over the years.

And then after—the guilt. Because even though Tom said that he and Annabel weren't serious she knew that it wasn't true and even though she'd vowed never to be that woman she'd been the one to start everything with one soft kiss to his Adam's apple that had made him shudder beneath her lips. And also because she never said the words; the words that should have inevitably followed what she had assumed at the time would be a one-night stand: _we shouldn't do this again_. Because deep in her heart of hearts, she wanted to; Annabel be damned.

She spent the night on the couch in her office because by that point there was no reason to go home and when she woke up the next morning it was just in time to see Annabel storm past her office with mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks.

So she hated herself.

And there are times that she nags and bitches and complains and says things that she doesn't mean and tries to manipulate and control and win and she just can't help herself.

She hates herself then too.

But right now it's the fact that Tom has been tiptoeing around her for a month trying to say and do the right thing all the time and never misstep or push her too hard and all she saw was him trying to take something that is rightfully hers. And it turns out that she is completely, utterly wrong. All he wants is to talk.

She can't give him that.

Sometimes Lynette hates herself.

**Two**

Sometimes Bree hates herself.

It isn't often. She feels too dignified to allow such distasteful emotion to take control of her actions. What is the point, after all, of thinking of herself as a bad person? She tries to live to the moral standard to which she holds the rest of the world and if there is a time she doesn't succeed she pushes down that feeling of self-loathing so it will never see the light of day.

Bree has never dwelt on the unpleasant if she can help it.

Every so often, though, she feels nothing but contempt for herself. And it is rarely for the things she does or says to others because there is little she regrets. More often it is when her own poor choices lead her to a place that makes her uncomfortable or unhappy or embarrassed.

Whenever she drank. Or now, whenever she thinks about drinking.

All the times she let Rex or the kids make her feel worthless. There were times, then, that they made her feel as though she was a relic from decades ago that had become so passé that there was no time to spare it more than a glance. And she let them get away with it more often than not.

Every time one of the men in her life has betrayed her. In one way or another.

These are the times that Bree hates herself.

And mostly, now, as she fiddles with the heat of her fire so she can make Orson the perfect crème brulee, she hates that she has let her life spin out of her own control. Because it was her decision to sleep with Karl. Her decision to divorce Orson. Her decision to listen to the reverend and bring Orson home. Her decision to let Orson boss her around.

Even as she prepares such an elaborate meal for her husband, she knows that this period of guilt-induced servitude will not last long.

Because sometimes Bree hates herself.

But it can never be for long.

**Three**

Gaby doesn't hate herself.

She knows that Carlos thinks she does. He thinks that every defiant act against her childhood and upbringing is a way of suppressing the loathing she feels for herself. He thinks that because she hates being poor, hates the idea of sending Juanita to school with a bunch of low-income Mexicans, and hates not having her own way, that it is simply her way of distancing herself from the things she hates about herself.

There is nothing she hates about herself.

She is beautiful and rich and funny and she has a smart, powerful husband and two gorgeous daughters and a nice home and friends and a good life. And options. She always makes sure she has plenty of options. She is everything she ever wanted to be. She has everything she ever wanted.

So maybe her past disgusts her. She grew up dirt poor and her father died when she was five leaving her with a self-centered mother and, later on, an abusive stepfather. How can she possibly have warm, fuzzy feelings about that? But her past is not who she is now.

Carlos can never understand this. He always goes on and on about his childhood and his family; telling the girls tall tales about their grandmother and glaring at Gaby when she involuntarily snorts with laughter. The man would be proud of weed in the back yard if he and his mother had planted it together when he was a kid. _Your past is part of who you are_, he always babbles at her.

Whenever he goes on in this vein, she paints her nails or brushes her hair or does some other inane task and ignores him.

Even tonight, as he talked about her father and the importance of letting their girls know where they came from, Gaby already knew two things: she still would not breathe a word about her childhood to the girls and Juanita would be going to private school. Juanita and Celia are going to grow up better than she—or Carlos, for that matter—did if it kills her. They are going to be better women than she is.

And maybe then, in light of the wonderful people they will be, Gaby will hate herself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ is not mine and it never will be.

**Chapter Summary: **Bree seeks an impromptu therapy session over lunch. A post-ep for "How about a Friendly Shrink?"

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Thirteen:**

**Therapy Session**

Dr. Albert Goldfine enjoyed the ambiance of his dining experience at Coral on the Roof more than he enjoyed the food. The music wafted through the room as light as air; the windows allowed sunlight to pour into the dining room; the tables were elegant and the waiters were snooty. Albert so rarely partook of these little flourishes that once every month or so it was pure heaven to escape to Coral on the Roof for lunch.

It was on such a day in January, as Albert had just laid his napkin across his lap and taken a sip of ice cold water, that he spotted a familiar redhead in the foyer, speaking with the host. If there were certain patients that were difficult for Albert to forget, this woman was completely impossible. Albert supposed that it was the natural result when one was assaulted by a patient's boyfriend. Still, he hadn't seen Bree Van de Kamp in years and the sight of her now stirred an ambivalent surge of horror and intrigue. As the host led Bree into the dining room, Albert instinctively snatched his menu from the table and used it to block his face. Being a curious man—a trait that had gotten him into as much trouble as it had personal success—Albert couldn't help but to peer discreetly at Bree as she passed. And, as luck would have it, Bree turned her head in his direction at the same moment. For a second, they stared at one another, but it was long enough for Albert to see the light of recognition dawn in Bree's eyes.

Albert ducked back behind his menu, though that wouldn't make a difference now, and thought that perhaps the odds were sixty-forty that Bree would avoid him. Repression had been her forte, but good manners could nearly cancel that out. As a minute slipped by, Albert breathed a sigh of relief, only to jump five seconds later when he heard, "Dr. Goldfine?" Defeated, Albert set down the menu, folded his hands on the table and looked up at Bree. "It's Bree Van de Kamp," she said, as though she needed to reintroduce herself.

"Hello, Bree. You look well." This was a half-truth. She was dressed as impeccably as ever and her hair had lost its stiffness; the result made her softer and sweeter. But she also had bags under her eyes that no amount of make-up could disguise and that same weariness beneath her dignity that Albert always thought of as her distinguishing characteristic.

"Thank you." She smiled, but it was slightly strained. "Are you dining alone?"

"Er—yes."

"Do you mind if I sit down for a moment? My dining partner isn't here yet."

Reluctantly, Albert nodded. He hadn't been able to stop her from doing this when she was a patient and he certainly had no grounds to now. Gracefully, Bree sat down across from him and laid her pocketbook on the table. "How have you been?" she asked.

"Fine. Work is going well. I'm relatively healthy. I can't ask for much more than that."

Bree pointed to his suit jacket and Albert glanced down to see a loose button. "Still not married, I take it."

As he did whenever someone brought up the subject of marriage, Albert allowed himself a momentary remembrance of his sweet Sarah, and then skirted the issue. "No, still not married." Bree nodded and smiled pleasantly; Albert knew she was waiting for him to return pleasantries. Drawing on all of his strength, he said, "And you, Bree? How have you been?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, things have been just terrible lately." Albert's eyes widened in surprise and he nearly choked on a sip of water when Bree continued: "Dr. Goldfine, I had an affair, and now things are just positively awful. I don't know what to do."

"Bree, you know I'm not your therapist any longer. It's probably best if we just keep the conversation focused on generalities."

"Oh, but this is an emergency. You know, I nearly brought my husband to you last year when he began to steal things, but I just couldn't face you again after what happened with George. But seeing you here, I just remembered how comfortable I felt talking to you and I really could use your help."

Albert scrambled for an excuse. "Aren't you meeting someone?"

"Just my son. And really, it's just a business appointment. I'll reschedule." Before Albert could protest, Bree whipped out her cell phone and punched in a text message. "You know I went into business for myself? And I wrote a cookbook!"

"That's…wonderful, Bree."

"Yes, it's been incredibly successful. I'll send you a copy of the book. You're still at the same office, right?"

"Uh, yes. You know, Bree, if you really want to talk I could find some time in my schedule for you to come in."

"But you're here now! It's perfect timing."

Albert floundered for a moment, but could not find the willpower to send Bree away. Despite his misgivings at getting involved in her life again, in five minutes she'd managed to be more interesting that his entire morning of patients. "So you remarried?" he asked.

"Yes. His name is Orson Hodge. He was a dentist when we got married."

"And how long have you been married?"

"Nine years. You know, we really don't need to go into all this. Orson and I were perfectly happy in the beginning. He was so sweet and attentive. He even helped me reconcile with my son. But then I found out that he ran down our neighbor with his car and that changed everything."

Albert thought that he probably shouldn't have been surprised, given Bree's history, but she still managed to shock him. "He ran over your neighbor?"

"He was trying to protect his mother, which I suppose could be construed as noble by some, but I just found it unforgiveable. I thought that if he just went to jail and made up for his crimes then everything could go back to the way it was."

"Atonement doesn't always work that way, Bree. You should know that it's not always an eye for an eye."

Bree gave him a startled look and then cautiously bowed her head, continuing as though he hadn't spoken. "I know that I probably should have just divorced him then. I loved him, though. But when he got out of prison he couldn't find a job and there was so much resentment and then he started to steal things!"

"Steal things?"

"Just little things from the neighbors. It was so horrifying. I had to go around returning everything. I had him talk to a therapist, but all he did was tell Orson that I was emasculating him and that I should sell my business! I couldn't do that. And I couldn't stay married to Orson while he was punishing me like that. So I called a divorce attorney."

"That sounds like it might have been the healthy choice, Bree."

"Yes, but then I began to have an affair with my divorce attorney. Of course, Orson found out and there was a huge confrontation. And then, did you hear about that plane crash right before Christmas?"

"Yes."

"That was on my street! Karl, who I had the affair with, was killed and Orson is paralyzed now and I just feel so guilty, like it's all my fault. I brought Orson home and I'm trying to care for him, but he's making it so difficult. He hates me for what I did to him, and truthfully, I'm still angry with him too. I just don't know what to do."

If Albert were unprofessional or callous, he would have laughed in disbelief. He'd forgotten just why Bree was so memorable. It wasn't a crazed boyfriend or being shoved off of an overpass; it was the incredible situations she managed to get into. And yet, her problems still boiled down to many of the basic ones all couples faced. She was an intriguing conundrum. Albert reached into his coat pocket and pulled out one of his business cards. "Call my secretary and set up an appointment, Bree. This is too much for just one lunch."

Bree took the card, but frowned. "Can't you give me some advice now?"

"There are no quick fixes for this."

"Oh, I understand. But I just need something to get me through the day. Something that I can think to myself when I'm positive I can't take another moment of being married to Orson."

"Bree, I once heard someone say that hate is simply love disappointed. Disappointment is hard, sometimes devastating, but if you can find a way to move past it then maybe you'll find your way back to that place of love."

In a show of emotion that Albert didn't associate with the Bree he'd once known, her eyes welled with tears and she nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Goldfine."

"You should still call for an appointment, Bree."

Bree nodded, but Albert knew by the way she composed herself and began to boss the waiter around just a moment later, that he wouldn't see her again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I still have no claim to _Desperate Housewives_. Too bad for me.

**Chapter Summary: **A few conversations between siblings. A post-ep for "The Glamorous Life."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Fourteen:**

**  
Brothers and Sisters**

**One**

Julie hadn't been to her aunt Amanda's since she was a kid, but Marissa hadn't popped out of the woodwork after her father died and Evan had ended up in their aunt's custody. She hadn't seen Evan since the funeral and even then Amanda had ended up taking him out of the church during the service because he'd started to pitch a fit. It was odd, having brothers so much younger than she was; she'd been nothing more than a peripheral part of their lives for years. Somehow she felt obligated to make more of an effort to Evan now, though; she was the only immediate family he had left.

Hesitantly, Julie knocked on the door her aunt had directed her to and called out, "Evan? It's Julie. Can I come in for a minute?"

There was a pause and then a small voice called, "Yeah."

Julie opened the door and stepped into the most jarring red and white room she'd ever seen. Judging by the bedspread and posters it was some kind of hockey team tribute, but Julie had no idea what team. She hadn't even known Evan liked hockey.

"Hey Evan," she said, stepping over some toys and taking a seat on the floor across from her brother. "I like your room."

"I don't. It's not really mine. It's Mike's."

"Oh." Her cousin Mike was almost thirty, married with a kid. She doubted he was coming back for the room anytime soon. "Well maybe Aunt Amanda will let you repaint it."

Evan shrugged.

"I could talk to her about it."

"It doesn't matter."

Julie nodded and there was an awkward lull. She'd never fallen into the ease of sibling communication all of her friends seemed to have with their siblings. Now was a time that skill would be of particular use.

"Why are you here?"

"I came to visit you," said Julie. "I thought maybe we should spend some time together."

"Are you going to stay here to?"

"Oh, well, no. I wasn't planning to. I was going to go stay with Lisa. You know our cousin Lisa, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"She lives nearby, so I'll come visit you."

"Whatever." Evan tossed the truck he'd been playing with on the floor and stood up, walking away from her. Julie frowned and glanced around the room again, trying to find something to use to start up the conversation again. After a quick perusal, though, the only thing she could focus on was a picture of their father sitting on a shelf. She sighed.

"I miss Dad too, Evan," she said quietly. "It's not fair, is it?"

"I want you to go now," said Evan.

"Evan…"

"Leave."

Julie nodded and stood up. "Okay. That's fine. I'll just see you later then I guess." Evan didn't say anything. "Unless," she added slowly, "you'd rather I stay here instead of with Lisa? I'm sure Aunt Amanda wouldn't mind."

Evan didn't turn around and didn't answer, but after a minute she saw him bob his head.

"Okay," said Julie. "It's a deal."

**

* * *

Two**

Andrew slit open the blue envelope and pulled out a birthday card that was clearly meant for a little boy. "Happy Birthday!" the front of the card declared to him while a group of cartoon bears sat beneath the words eating a cake. Andrew opened the card, scoffed for a moment at the words, "To a wonderful big brother!" and then read the note Danielle had scribbled. "Andrew—I know your birthday was in November but I forgot! Whoops! Oh hang on, maybe that was because I was waiting for my birthday card from you to show up in the mail and it never did. Anyway, happy belated birthday. –Danielle."

Andrew set the card on the end table, somewhat amused by his sister, and picked up the phone. He could roughly estimate that he and Danielle averaged about three phone calls a year to one another, though the only consistently annual call was on the anniversary of their father's death. It was the only connection that he and Danielle truly shared; no one else could understand how it had felt, what it had been like, or how it had affected their family. He couldn't even talk to his mother about it, really, because the loss had been different for her. He felt strangely ambivalent about having to depend on Danielle for the task.

But it had been six months now since that call, and a birthday card was as good as any excuse to randomly chat with his sister for ten minutes.

"Hello?"

"I sent you an e-card _on _your actual birthday. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It was three days before my birthday, actually, and no it doesn't count! I want your brotherly affection for me shown through the price of postage."

"Oh, so you're worth forty-one cents now?"

"Shut up."

"How's Florida?"

"Humid. I want to move out west but Leo's not getting on board."

"Well considering he's gainfully employed I can't say I blame him."

"He can still be a lawyer in Colorado. He's just being stubborn because his family's here."

"The bastard."

"Look, the two of you can get together and have a mama's boy celebration sometime, but I'm sick of it. Do you know we have dinner at his parents' every Sunday?"

Andrew laughed. "Wow. Not even Mom is that bad. And we're living right down the street."

"How is our dear, old mother anyway? I haven't heard from her since she sent me that subscription to the jam-of-the-month club for my birthday."

"You got that too?"

"Ugh."

"Mom's…okay. You heard about Orson, right?"

"Yeah. Alex called me."

"Alex? As in _my_ Alex?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Since when do you talk to Alex?"

"Since he called and introduced himself. We talk like once a month now."

Andrew pulled the phone away for a second and glared at it as though this would translate directly to Danielle. Why the hell was she talking to Alex once a month?

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. He's just trying to be a good brother-in-law. And it's nice to know someone in the family cares about me. Anyway, how's Mom dealing with handicapped Orson? Last I heard from _you_ she was planning to divorce him."

Andrew crossed his legs, putting aside how perturbed he felt about Danielle and Alex, and said, "You know Mom. Always ready to stay obligated out of guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Didn't your phone buddy tell you? Mom had an affair."

"Holy shit! Really?"

"Yep."

"With who?"

"Karl Mayer."

Danielle began to laugh so hard that Andrew was forced to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened by his sister's cackling. When she was still going a minute later, he shouted into the phone, "Are you done, or should I call back in three months?"

He heard Danielle take a deep breath and between a few escaped giggles she said, "I'm done. Jesus. That is just too good. I wonder if they make a card for something like that."

"Come on, Danielle. Aren't you at the least concerned that she's staying in a relationship with a man she doesn't love?"

"Give me a break. Mom loves Orson."

"You haven't seen Mom in over a year. What do you know?"

"Yeah, maybe that's why I can be objective. You don't stay with someone that long, especially when he's in prison for a good chunk of your marriage, if you don't love him. I don't care what Orson did to piss her off. Take my word for it: she'll be back to looking down at everyone else's marriages in no time. All because of her and Orson's twue wuv."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. We'll see about that."

**

* * *

Three**

Penny opened Parker's bedroom door and walked in without announcing herself. Parker shoved the magazine he was reading under his pillow and sat up, glaring at her. "Jeez! You ever heard of knocking?"

Penny shrugged and shut the door behind her. "Does Mom know you're reading those magazines?"

"What magazines?"

"I'm thirteen, not stupid."

"Did you come in here for a reason?"

Penny crossed her arms over her chest. "Are Mom and Dad going to get divorced?"

"What?" Parker laughed. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Well they're going to therapy. That's what Caitlyn's parents did before they got divorced."

"Not everyone who goes to therapy ends up divorced, you know."

"Yeah," agreed Penny, crossing the room to sit on the end of Parker's unmade bed. "But how do you know?"

"Because they're Mom and Dad."

"That's a dumb answer."

"Well I don't know how to explain it! Look, I'm sure if you ask Caitlyn she'll tell you that her parents were probably either fighting all the time or spending all of their time away from each other. Mom and Dad aren't like that."

"They fight."

"Not all the time. Come on, Penny. You've lived in this house for thirteen years. You know how they are."

"Yeah. But things have been weird since the baby died."

"Well…yeah. But I think that's normal."

Penny picked at a loose thread on Parker's comforter for a moment. "I told Mom and Dad I was going to leave if they had another boy."

"And?"

"And I shouldn't have said that. I didn't want another brother and now we're not having one."

"That's not your fault."

"I know." The words felt like a half-truth. Penny looked up from the bedspread and frowned at her older brother. "I just want everything to go back to normal."

Parker reached out and tugged her ponytail. "I'm not sure things ever go back to normal after something like this. You know, it's like after Mom was sick or after Dad almost died a few years ago. Everything changed then too, but it turned out okay, right? So I wouldn't worry too much."

"Okay."

Though her mood had only marginally improved, the anxiety she'd felt before had disappeared and Penny supposed that was enough to satisfy her. Appeased, she climbed off of the bed.

"Besides," Parker said, just as she reached for the doorknob, "everything's going to go crazy after the baby comes anyway, so I wouldn't worry about things staying this way for long."

Penny sighed.

**

* * *

A/n: ** I know that it probably seems incongruous that I've made Penny 13 in this chapter, but let's face it: the show is all over the map with these kids' ages anyway. Juanita's gone from 4 to 7 in two years, after all. If anyone cares about my actual logic behind this decision, you can visit my blog (under the homepage link on my profile) where I've recently posted on this subject. Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15, Part 1

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own _Desperate Housewives_. I did watch the latest episode multiple times, though.

**Chapter Summary: **There's a background to every love story. Episode-related fic for "Lovely."

**A/n: **This one was running a little long, so I've decided to divide it into two parts. Hopefully I'll have the second part up sometime later in the week.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Fifteen:**

**Four Love Stories**

**Tom and Lynette: The Ring**

Tom opened the door and the instant Lynette stepped inside, Gaby nearly accosted her. She'd seen more experienced babysitters than Gaby greet her similarly—Gaby wrang her hands together and shifted her weight nervously—and with a sigh she dumped her purse on the floor. "What did they do now?"

Behind her, Tom shut the door and started to help her off with her coat. "We'll pay if they destroyed your personal property," he said, clearly thinking similarly. The last time Mary Alice had babysat, Preston had managed to flush most of the contents of her purse down the toilet, including a sixty dollar bottle of perfume.

"Lynette, I am really, _really_ sorry!"

"Okay, it's our personal property."

Tom slipped between Lynette and Gaby, making his way to the living room. "They didn't break the TV did they?"

"No. Lynette, I just turned my back for a second and then they were gone! And by the time I found them…"

"Gaby, spit it out. What did they do?"

"They got into your jewelry box."

"What?"

"Oh crap," said Tom.

Lynette sighed. "How much did they ruin?"

Gaby pressed her lips together for a second and then said in a rush, "They tangled a few necklaces and threw a couple of pieces out the window and flushed some earrings down the toilet—"

"Okay, seriously, what's up with them and the toilet?" Tom interjected.

"—and when I got there they were about to send your wedding ring down too. But I stopped them! I got it out of that one twin's hand. Uh…Parker, right?" Lynette glanced over at Tom and saw him giving her the same questioning gaze. Maybe Gaby wasn't the best choice of babysitter, even in an emergency.

"Where are the boys now?" asked Tom.

"Up in their room. That's the other thing: I might have bribed them to stay in there. Just a little, though."

Lynette waved a dismissive hand. "We've all been there. I should go check on them. And I guess I should go see what the damage is." She paused before the first stair. "They didn't touch my engagement ring, did they?"

"Your engagement ring?"

"Yeah. It was in there with my wedding ring. I had to take them off because my fingers have swelled to the size of sausages. Just one of the many, many joys of being pregnant."

Gaby didn't laugh and Lynette's heart sank. "I didn't see it," she said.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not the size of the rock you're sporting. Maybe you missed it."

"I'm really, _really_ sorry," Gaby said again.

* * *

"I locked your wedding ring in the tool chest in the garage. Unless the boys have learned how to pick a lock, it'll be safe."

Lynette gave him a sad smile. "Thanks."

"Sweetie, is there anything I can do…"

"No. We tore the house apart. You spent most of the afternoon crawling around in the yard. I just have to face reality: it's gone." She closed her eyes and sank a little lower into the bathtub, the top of her very pregnant stomach sticking out of the water. Everything about her screamed exhaustion right now and what had happened today only added to it. Tom could only curse Miranda Rogers for canceling on them at the last minute and leaving Lynette with no other choice for a babysitter but Gabrielle. For Lynette, though, there was nowhere easy to place the blame and he knew that only made it more difficult.

Tom undressed and left his clothes lying on the floor. "Sit up for a second," he said, putting his hands on Lynette's shoulders. "I'm coming in."

After some maneuvering that took much longer with a woman in her ninth month than it would have taken otherwise, Tom settled into the bathtub behind Lynette and pulled her back to lie against his chest, resting his hands on her stomach. He kissed her temple. "I'm really sorry about your ring."

Lynette shrugged, but he could feel her shuddery breath and he knew that she was trying not to cry.

* * *

"Why do we even need to get something for my aunt? She still thinks your name is Lily."

"Yeah, and she doesn't know the kids' names either, but she still sends them cards with money every Christmas. That warrants some kind of gift."

"Maybe if she sent us a card with some money…" Lynette slapped his arm. "Seriously, Lynette, we could at least go someplace cheaper. This stuff is so expensive. And old."

"It's an antique shop. It's supposed to be old."

Tom groaned and followed her into the sea of relics that surrounded them. Despite the pregnancy, she was still more agile in her movements than he and he was forced to concentrate on his maneuvering. Desk, table, rocking chair, ottoman, ottoman, desk, grandfather clock; the place was a relative maze. Finally Lynette stopped near a glass display case and peered inside. Tom's heart nearly stopped when the first thing he spotted was a watch priced at eight hundred dollars. "You do remember that neither of us have jobs right now? Lynette?" He tore his eyes away from the watch to try to see what had caught his wife's attention.

"Sorry," she said mildly as Tom's eyes still roved the display case. "It's just…Look at that ring."

"Which ring?"

"That one." She tapped the case with her fingernail. "It looks so much like my engagement ring did."

With that, Tom finally pinpointed the one to which she referred. The diamond and the setting were remarkably similar to the one he'd bought new twenty years ago. "Wow." Tom glanced at the price tag. "_Wow_."

"I know." Lynette gazed longingly at the ring for another minute and then abruptly shook her head. "Come on. Let's go."

"What? That's it?"

"You were right. This stuff is too expensive. Neither of us have jobs."

"Lynette—"

"We'll just get your aunt a plant. She likes ferns, doesn't she?"

"Sure," agreed Tom, honestly not knowing one way or the other. Even as they stepped out into the bright December sunlight, his mind remained in the dusty store. He knew Lynette. She wanted that ring and she'd never admit it. And he wanted that ring for her. And neither of them were going to get what they wanted because life was just too damn unfair lately. Lynette sighed—probably thinking along the same lines—and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed hers gently.

"Isn't Fern what she calls Penny?" he joked. Lynette smiled up at him gratefully. At least he could manage to give her that much.

* * *

Tom kissed her clavicle, her neck and then her cheek before rolling onto his back. For the hundredth time, she wished she could have the baby already; now, mostly, because she would have liked nothing more than to curl up and snuggle with her husband. She'd never been this pregnant on their anniversary before and it felt odd not to be able to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat while she fell asleep.

"We've been married for twenty years," she said. The words seemed to stretch in the darkened room as though they were infinite. Twenty years sounded a lot longer than it felt.

"Yeah."

"Do you remember when I was pregnant with Parker and on our anniversary you spelled out "I love you" with Oreos because I was craving them?"

Tom chuckled. "Yeah. That was one of my finer moments. Third?"

"Second."

"Right. Second. My favorite was the year you surprised me with that weekend up at the lake. You wore that red, lacy number." Tom turned onto his side and ran a finger over her hip. "So sexy."

"Yeah. That was fun. Until Karen called to tell us the twins hotwired her car and took off."

"We went skinny-dipping and had sex in the lake. So I'm going to say still my favorite." Lynette laughed. "What about you?"

"Our fifth. I thought you were going to be out of town and you surprised me by coming home early. And you sent the boys to my sister's so we were all alone. That was pretty special." She rolled onto her side to look at Tom, mirroring his position. "This ring is the best present you've ever gotten me, though. When did you go back?"

"Right after we lost the baby. It was impractical and crazy, but I saw the way you'd been looking at it and I wanted it."

"How did you pay for it?"

"Hey, you are looking at a master negotiator. Plus I convinced the guy to let me pay in installments."

Lynette raised a hand to cup his cheek and leaned in to kiss him. "God, I love you."

"I love you too."

**

* * *

Bree and Orson: Intimacy**

It was late spring. She was at a flower show surrounded by the most beautifully colored and fragrant flowers imaginable. There was a breeze in the air and the sun was bright in the sky.

And Orson Hodge was holding her hand.

Bree wasn't quite sure how this had happened. She'd said, "Daisies are so pedestrian, but they still make me happy when I look at them." Orson had laughed and agreed. Then he'd taken her hand in his and pulled her toward a gorgeous display of tulips. He'd held it while he commented on the sunset-like colors; he'd continued to hold it when they moved on to the flashy roses and then to her favorite flower, the orchid. Now they stood under the shade of a flowering tree and Orson still had his fingers laced with hers.

"Do you know what kind of tree this is?" he asked. "The bloom is beautiful."

"It's a crab apple tree. More of a mess than the flowers are worth. Did you know you're holding my hand?"

Orson looked down at their entwined hands. "Oh, that's your hand? I thought it was mine."

"Orson!" Bree lowered her voice. "You know how I feel about public displays of affection."

"And you know I agree. Or I did. But Bree, there comes a time when every man must say, 'To hell with it,' and take the hand of a beautiful woman."

"Be serious!"

"Oh, I am. Bree, we've been dating for four months now. Maybe it's too soon, but there's something I wanted to ask you." Orson dropped to his knee, still holding her hand, and Bree felt her breath leave her lungs. "Bree. Darling. May I kiss you under the apple tree?"

"It's a crab apple tree," she corrected automatically. Then, realizing that Orson wasn't seriously proposing, she tugged on his hand to draw him back to his feet. Quickly she looked around to make sure that no one was staring. When she turned back to Orson, she was surprised to find him looking down at her with laughing eyes. "You're not funny."

"Maybe not. But you are. And I love you for it."

* * *

His first weekend home from jail, Katherine held a party in honor of his homecoming. He'd arrived home on Tuesday; Bree had announced the party on Thursday; Orson had dreaded it ever since. The idea of a homecoming party had been brought up over a month ago, at which time Orson had told Bree firmly that he wanted no such thing. So even though she'd told him, "Katherine and the girls decided to throw you a party on Saturday. I didn't know until yesterday. We're going to go, and you're going to be polite," Orson still suspected that the entire thing reeked of Bree's doing.

Now he was stuck making small talk with people he hadn't seen in two years.

"This is awkward as hell, man." Orson turned to Carlos and smiled gratefully. "And trust me, I know how you feel. Everyone's acting like you just got home from the Peace Corps or something. But they all know where you've really been and you know where you've really been. I feel for you. I really do."

"Did you have a party like this when you got out of jail?"

"Hell no. I had sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"Oh." Bree had scarcely kissed him since he'd gotten home, let alone made love to him. He wasn't sure that it would be so easy for things to go back to normal. Not after so much time apart. Not with Benjamin gone. "And there were no…problems?"

"Look, don't tell Gaby I said this, but there are never problems with that woman in the bedroom. Even when she was eight months pregnant it was still some of the greatest sex of my life."

"How wonderful for you."

"Spoken like a guy who's not getting any. Can't relate to that." To Orson's horror, Carlos raised his voice and shouted, "Hey, Tom, Orson needs some advice!"

"You really don't need to do this," said Orson.

"No, trust me. This'll be great." Orson rolled his eyes—it wasn't like Carlos could see anyway—and frowned.

"What's up?" asked Tom, coming up to them and taking a swig of his beer.

"Orson's not getting any. You got any advice?"

Tom clapped Orson on the back. "Sorry, I wouldn't know about that. Carlos here doesn't have any idea, but the only thing better than sex is you-almost-died-sex. And I've been getting that regularly. You know I almost died, right?"

"Yes, Tom, everyone knows," Carlos groaned. Orson didn't, actually, but from Carlos' reaction he felt he shouldn't correct the assumption.

"Well it's really done wonders for my sex life. Uh, just don't tell Lynette that I told you guys."

"Look, gentlemen, it's very nice of you to try to raise my spirits, but trust me, I'm fine. Bree's fine. We're fine." To Orson's annoyance, Tom and Carlos exchanged a look of disbelief.

"Whatever you say," said Carlos. Without excusing himself he wandered away to where Mike had holed up near a television to check the score of a football game. Left alone with Tom, and desperate to change the subject, Orson felt he had no choice but to ask, "So you nearly died?"

"Yeah. Electrocution. Lynette's forbidden me from working with electrical panels again." Tom rambled on and Orson nodded, barely paying attention. How was it that his neighbors all seemed so stagnant and he and Bree had changed so much? Carlos and Gaby still gave off sparks whenever they were in a room together. Tom and Lynette had been married for so long that the way they fit together was elegantly natural. Mike and Susan had been married almost as long as he and Bree and they still looked at one another like they were the only ones in the room. Orson couldn't help but wonder what people thought of when they looked at him and Bree. He feared that it was nothing more than two people alone together.

* * *

Orson was already in bed with his back to her when Bree emerged from the bathroom. The party today hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped. She thought that maybe he'd come away realizing that he still had a place in the neighborhood; that things weren't so different after all. Instead he seemed more upset than before; sullen and quiet.

Since he'd come back home, he he'd scarcely kissed her, let alone made love to her. In the first few days she'd been able to convince herself that it might be natural; a normal pattern after so much time apart. But talking to the girls today had made her second guess her beliefs. From the way they were talking, their husbands could hardly keep their hands off them after even a short time apart, let alone two years.

Bree pulled back the covers on her side of the bed and climbed in, purposely jostling the bed more than usual to provoke some kind of reaction from her husband. He simply lay still as stone, obviously not asleep. "Orson?"

"Yes?"

Bree stared at the long stripes on the back of his pajama shirt. She had no idea what to say; she'd only said his name to hear him say something—anything. All of the things she wanted to say, apologies and demands and questions, stuck in her throat. Defeated, she sighed deeply. "Nothing." She reached over and turned off the light on her nightstand. In the dark, Orson could have been any other man lying next to her. It was a sad realization. All of the things that made him her husband seemed to have disappeared. Almost to herself, Bree whispered, "I miss you."

Suddenly exhausted, Bree turned onto her side and tugged the covers up over her shoulder. Just as she closed her eyes, she felt Orson turn over and a moment later his arms embraced her. "I miss you too," he mumbled into her shoulder.

It was a start.

* * *

They hadn't installed anything to help Orson get upstairs. When he'd first arrived home from the hospital he'd deemed it unnecessary. As annoyed as she'd been with him at the time, she'd agreed and converted the downstairs study into a pseudo-bedroom. Now she regretted being so stubborn.

"You don't have to do this," said Orson for the fifth time. "We could wait a couple of weeks until the install something for the stairs."

"Orson, we haven't spent the night together in eight months. I think I've waited long enough already."

"But what if you hurt your back? Or your neck? Bree—"

"Orson, I'm fine." Bree tucked the heavy blanket she'd gotten out of the closet more firmly around her legs and smiled. Orson was right, of course. Sleeping in a chair all night wasn't going to do her any favors as far as aches and pains. But the help that it would do for her marriage seemed worth whatever other trouble it might cause her.

From his bed, Orson leaned over to click the light off and then gently picked up the hand she rested on his leg. His thumb rubbed the inside of her palm and Bree shut her eyes with a smile on her face for the first time in months.


	16. Chapter 15, Part 2

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own _Desperate Housewives_. I did watch the latest episode multiple times, though.

**Chapter Summary: **There's a background to every love story. Episode-related fic for "Lovely."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Fifteen:**

**Four Love Stories**

**Gabrielle and Carlos: Celebration**

Carlos stood, glass in hand, and cleared his throat. Sensing his announcement was finally coming, Gaby beamed up at him until she caught sight of Juanita Solis out of the corner of her eye. The look in the older woman's eye was suspicious, if not downright angry, and Gaby's smile faltered. "Mama," said Carlos, and as he looked at her, Juanita's face suddenly melted into an adoring smile, "I have something to tell you." Carlos put a hand on Gaby's shoulder and squeezed it. "Gabrielle and I are engaged."

Juanita's smile became taut and Gaby fought a backlash of anxiety. "Surprise!" she said weakly.

"You're engaged?"

"Yes, Mama."

"We already set the date," Gaby added.

"Carlos, how could you do this?"

"August tenth," Gaby finished weakly.

"Mama. Don't."

"Don't? Carlos, you are my son. You are in my house. I'll say what needs to be said."

Carlos set down his wine glass. "Why are you spoiling this? This is a happy occasion."

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to this nonsense. You've known this girl all of a month and you think you're ready for marriage? Why? Because she is pretty? You think that's the foundation for a marriage? Her beauty isn't going to last forever."

"Mama!"

"Carlos, don't be stupid! You're attractive, successful, rich…these are the only reasons she's after you!"

Gaby stood up, slamming her hands down on the table. "Look, lady! If you think I'm just going to sit here and let you say bad things about me, you've got another thing coming! I don't care whose mother you are!"

"Gaby!"

"It will be a cold day in hell before I watch you marry my only son! You'll only make him miserable!"

Carlos pounded the table with his fist and both Gaby and Juanita jumped. "Enough! Gaby, go wait in the car. I'll be out in a minute."

For a moment, Gaby and Juanita glared at one another across the length of the table. Then Gaby smiled again, sashaying over to her fiancé to give him a long, lingering kiss. "Okay, baby," she said. She ran a hand over his cheek and backed away, throwing a little smirk at Juanita on her way out. It wasn't until she'd shut the front door firmly behind her that she heard their voices raise in argument again. As she made her way to the car, Gaby couldn't help but victorious. She'd thrown the last punch; nothing his mother said now would matter. She and Carlos could live together in marital bliss and she wouldn't have to concern herself with an obnoxious mother-in-law.

Minutes later, Carlos stormed out of the house and climbed into the car, obviously still fuming. Gaby tried her best to look sympathetic, though inside she hummed with the warmth of her success. "Oh, baby, it's okay," she said, running a hand up and down his arm. "We'll send her a picture from the wedding."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well she's obviously not coming."

Carlos scowled. "Of course she's coming. She's my mother."

"Did you hear what she said to me?"

"I told her that kind of thing is out of line. It won't happen again."

"And that's it?"

"Yes. She'll cool down and I'm sure she'll apologize. Then we'll all be one big happy family."

Gaby settled back in her seat, horrified. "Right," she agreed distantly. "One big happy family."

* * *

"Do we have any champagne?"

"Champagne? With beef stew?"

"I want to make a toast."

Gaby went to over to check. "No," she said after a moment. "But we do have wine."

"That'll do."

Gaby poured out two glasses and then guided Carlos' hand to his. For the hundredth time she thought about how different her life was going to be now that Carlos couldn't see. This was just another of dozens of every day instances that she used to take for granted. Quite simply, though, Gaby had decided that this was just something she'd deal with through sheer willpower. She'd tried life without Carlos; being with him made things infinitely better than being without him, sight or no sight.

"To you," said Carlos, lifting his wine glass. Gaby clinked their glasses together. "For being the best wife a man could ever ask for. For being so forgiving. For sticking by me."

Gaby took a sip and when Carlos had done the same, she stepped forward and kissed him. "And to us," she added quietly. "For being survivors."

"I'll drink to that." Gaby kissed him again before he could actually take a sip. "Now," said Carlos. "Can we eat? I'm starving."

Gaby glanced at the stew she'd concocted of dog food and dishwater as revenge for Carlos not confessing he was permanently blind and frowned. "Let's order pizza instead."

* * *

Carlos kissed Gaby, setting down his wine glass and then deftly taking hers away too. "You are brilliant," he mumbled against her lips. "Just brilliant."

"Well Ana and I speak the same language. I know exactly how to push her buttons."

"Seriously, Gaby." Carlos pulled back to look down at her. "I know that you never wanted to take Ana in, but you did. And now getting her away from Danny...Thank you."

Gaby kissed his neck and started to fumble with his belt. "That's nice, honey. Now how about less talking, more stripping?"

Happy to comply, Carlos pulled Gaby's shirt over her head and tossed it across the room. "Just one more thing," he said as she quickly undid the buttons on his shirt.

"Carlos, I'm ready to jump your bones. What's with all the gabbing?"

Carlos put his hands on her shoulders and bent to look her firmly in the eye. "You are a fantastic mother. And our kids are really lucky to have you."

Gaby merely nodded in response, but he could tell that the words had some emotional resonance. "And you," she said quietly, "really need to drop your pants."

"Whatever you say."

**

* * *

Susan and Mike: Back Spasms**

"Do you want a muscle relaxant?" Susan called to him from the bathroom. "I think they're still okay to take! Do these things have expiration dates?"

That would have been enough to deter Mike, even without a history of addiction. "Uh, no. That's okay."

Susan appeared at the bathroom door and frowned at him. "Well you look like you're in a lot of pain. Have you always had a bad back?"

"Just one of the many joys of being a plumber."

"Poor baby." Susan took a few strides and slithered onto the bed. "How about a massage? Would that make it better?" She kneaded her fingers into the taut muscles in his back and Mike moaned. It had been a long time since a beautiful woman had given him a back rub. He could add this as another pro to dating Susan Mayer.

"How does that feel?"

"Fantastic. God, Susan, have you done this before?"

"The only thing Karl ever risked hurting at work was his penis. So no, I can't say I have."

Mike laughed. "Well he was missing out. You're amazing."

"Hmm. Maybe I should think about becoming a masseur. The tips couldn't hurt."

Mike turned his head to look at her and her hands stopped dancing over his skin. In seconds, he tugged her down so she lay on the bed beside him and he pushed himself up slightly to hover over her. "I don't think so," he said in a low voice. "I want you all to myself."

Susan giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Well in that case…" She kissed him and he completely forgot about the pain in his back.

* * *

Susan took a sip of wine and took another step toward the edge of her front lawn. She'd often been grateful for her view of Mike's house, but now that he was dating Edie it seemed more like a curse. Try as she might to avoid looking, she just couldn't help herself. It was instinctive.

Like what was happening now. Susan simply couldn't tear her eyes away.

Edie had laid Mike out on a yoga mat on his front porch and she was currently half-massaging his back, half-writhing obscenely on top of him. It was disgusting. It was disheartening. It was evil.

It was what she wanted to be doing to Mike herself. Maybe not on the front porch, but…

"What are you staring at?"

Susan hadn't even heard Lynette approach; in fact, Susan hadn't even considered the possibility that she would come over despite knowing that she was outside picking up after her kids. She stood at the fence that separated their yards with that knowing look on her face that Susan hated. "Nothing," she lied and she took another sip of wine.

"You shouldn't torture yourself."

"I'm not." Wow, the lies were spilling out tonight. "I'm just waiting to see if they have sex so I can call the police."

"I thought you were with Ian now."

Susan nodded. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean I want to watch my neighbors have sex on their front porch."

"She's just giving him a back rub."

"Well of course she is. Mike gets these awful back pains. But then he'll feel better and he'll be all relaxed and he'll want to have sex. That's the way it always goes," Susan told Lynette without thinking.

"Look, Susan, why don't you come over for a little while? Tom took the kids to a movie, so we can just sit around, maybe vent a little. What do you say?"

Edie pressed her breasts into Mike's back so hard that it looked like she was massaging him with her boobs. Suddenly Susan felt completely ill. "No," she said. "I think I'm just going to head inside. Maybe call Ian."

"Okay. Well I'll talk to you later, then."

Susan didn't even respond as Lynette walked away. She was too busy watching Edie drape her whole body over Mike's.

* * *

Julie had been devastated after Karl's funeral; as soon as she'd walked in the door she'd opened a bottle of wine. Susan hadn't been worried about a glass, but when Julie hunkered down in the living room, Susan had become concerned. Already wan and exhausted because of everything else that was going on, Julie hadn't looked well enough to consume an entire bottle of wine herself. So Susan had gone in to talk to her.

Now, three hours later, Julie was only a little tipsy and already in bed; Susan was passed out on the couch. Mike shook his head as he looked down at her. Susan always had been an if-you-can't-beat-'em,-join-'em personality.

"Susan." Mike shook her shoulder, but Susan only groaned. "Come on, Susan. Time for bed."

"Too tired."

"Yeah, I bet you are." Mike bent down and pulled her into his arms, straightening up again with some effort. He really wasn't young or fit enough to be carrying Susan anywhere, but he barely wanted to admit it to himself, let alone her. Drowsily, Susan threw her arms around his neck. "Come on," said Mike.

Three steps toward the kitchen, Mike knew that carrying Susan upstairs was a bad idea. Halfway to the kitchen, he felt a spasm in his back. When he reached the kitchen, the pain was so searing that he was forced to drop to his knees, only just managing to slightly cushion Susan's fall. That, finally, woke her up.

"What's going on?" She rubbed her head and blinked at him sleepily. "Are you okay?"

"No." Mike hissed as another spasm of pain rippled through his muscles. "I was trying to carry you upstairs and I threw my back out."

"Oh, God!" Susan threw a hand up and gave him a look that screamed melodrama. "It's exactly like how I imagined it! I'm getting fat and now we're never going to have sex again!"

Mike blinked, completely bewildered; it was almost enough to make him forget the pain in his back. Susan said crazy things on a daily basis, but this was perhaps one of the strangest things he'd ever heard. "What?"

"You can't even carry me upstairs!"

"Look, Susan." There was another spasm in his back and Mike closed his eyes against the pain. This would have to be quick. "I would love you no matter what. I would want to have sex with you no matter what. And you're already so thin that if you lose any weight you're going to disappear. Now can you come back down to earth and realize that I'm in a lot of pain here?"

"Really, Mike? What if I lose all my teeth? Or my hair?"

"Susan!"

"Oh, right." Susan lifted his arm over her shoulder to support as much of his weight as she could and carefully stood up. Slowly, they began to take the stairs. "You know I'd love you no matter what too, right? Even if you got a huge beer belly and went bald and stopped shaving."

"Great."

"Mike!"

"Oh God, Susan, if you don't let me concentrate on getting up these stairs you might as well leave me to die on them right now. I am begging you, can we finish talking about this tomorrow?"

"Fine."

Mike ignored the annoyance in her tone. If she really wanted to fight about this later he'd deal with it then. He'd met irrational Susan before and he knew she'd be back again.

Besides, maybe by morning the pain would have killed him.

* * *

"Robin is moving out."

"Why am I not surprised to hear that?"

Susan sighed and flopped into the chair next to Mike's bed. "Okay. I'll admit it. I was acting a little crazy."

"Susan, I'm in the hospital."

"Fine. Bat out of hell crazy. Are you happy now?"

"I'll be happier once I'm out of here and in my own bed."

"Oh. About that…"

"What?"

"The doctor might have mentioned keeping you overnight."

"Oh no. No way. I'll sign whatever disclaimer they want, but I'm getting out of here tonight."

"Mike, it's your back, not a skinned knee. Isn't it about time you got professional help?"

Mike rolled his eyes and groaned, but it seemed to be merely annoyance that he had to agree with her. "Fine. You're right. I'll stay here."

"Thank you."

"But I'll whine if I want to."

Susan shrugged. "You're a man. No one expects anything less."

"Ha ha."

"Aw, come on." Susan stood so she could gently ease onto the edge of the bed, running her hands over Mike's shoulders. "You will be out of here in no time with a much better back. And then you and I can have a little fun." She kissed him and giggled.

"Mommy, you're not supposed to sit on the bed!" Susan whipped around, startled by MJ's voice; she hadn't even heard the door open. In her hurry, she lost her balance and wildly threw her hand down on the bed to keep from falling. Unfortunately, her hand landed on the bed controls and the bed suddenly jolted back.

"Susan!" Mike yelled.

Susan bit her lip. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ does not belong to me.

**Chapter Summary: **Tad gets fired and takes a nap. And some other stuff happens too. A chapter celebrating the minor characters from "The Chase."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Sixteen:**

**Cowboy Tad's Excellent Adventure**

The new guy watched Tad pack up the few belongings he'd stowed away in the last month or so, interjecting every so often: "Is that pen really your property?" or "You kept pornography at the workplace?" All the while Tad could hear Andrew and Mrs. H brawling in the office. Tad would have been flattered by Andrew's loyalty, but the fight seemed more about the new guy than about the fact that he was fired.

"Now I know that stapler isn't yours." The new guy snatched it out of his hand before Tad could protest. "I think you have everything that's yours. Let me escort you out."

"Actually I was gonna wait around until Andrew's done. I need a ride to the bus stop."

"I'm afraid you're just going to have to walk, Tad." He opened the door and smiled toothily; it had the unpleasant effect of making him look like a hyena. "You are no longer welcome on the property of Van de Kamp's Old Fashioned Cooking."

"Whatever." Tad shrugged and walked through the door. "I'll just wait in the park. If you could just—" The door slammed before Tad could finished and he gaped at it helplessly for a moment. "Thanks a lot, you prick." For a minute, Tad considered trekking to the bus stop on foot, but just the thought of walking almost four blocks was exhausting. He settled for crossing the street to the park instead and decided to just call Andrew in an hour or two when he'd be done fighting with Mrs. H.

Tad pulled out the cowboy hat from his box of belongings; he'd brought it in the night he and Andrew had a western marathon and drank all those fancy imported beers. Lying back on the bench, he put the hat over his face and shut his eyes; he might as well get in his usual afternoon nap while he waited.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, he was awakened by the sound of someone asking, "Are you okay?"

Tad lifted his hat and blinked against the bright sunlight, trying to ignore the crick in his back.. A little girl with blonde pigtails stood a few feet away staring at him curiously. "Yeah. Just taking a nap."

"On a bench?"

"It's less comfortable than it looks."

"Okay, well..." She started to back away from him and Tad sat up, placing the hat firmly on his head.

"Hey, wait. Uh, do you know what time it is?"

The girl fiddled with the cuff of her shirt—presumably there was a watch hidden under there—but before she dug it out someone called out, "Penny!" and both she and Tad turned to see an old man coming toward them.

"Hi, Mr. Bender," the girl greeted.

The old man took a couple of wheezing breaths as he came to a stop. "Penny, who is this cowboy? Do you know him?"

"No."

"Oh. Well in that case, don't talk to him."

"I—"

"Look, I know you know, but Karen made me haul my ass all the way across the street to tell you not to talk to him. So why don't you just go home?"

Tad held up his hands. "Look, dude, I'm not a pervert or anything like that. I was just taking a nap and she woke me up."

"What are you homeless or something?"

"Uh, no."

"Then why the hell are you sleeping on a park bench?"

"Okay, see, I just got fired and I need a ride so I was just waiting here and I fell asleep. Is that a crime?" The old man rolled his eyes and Tad frowned. Everyone always seemed to have that reaction when he spoke.

"Do you need money for the bus?" offered the girl.

"Wow, that'd be nice. I am kind of tight on cash."

"Don't, Penny."

"It's not a big deal. My parents forgot my birthday, so I cleaned up this year. I can spare a couple of bucks."

"Yeah, dude, she can spare it."

The old man slapped the side of his head and knocked his hat off; Tad winced. "You don't take money from a seven-year-old. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm eleven!"

"You're not helping."

"Fine!" Tad scooped up his hat and stood up, grabbing his box. "Fine! I'll go! Happy?"

"God, this street is filled with nothing but lunatics," the old man muttered. More audibly, he asked, "Are you doing drugs? Maybe I should call the police."

Ignoring him, Tad slapped the hat down on the little girl's head. "Happy birthday, kid. Your parents forgetting your birthday might suck, but it's only going to get worse the older you get. Enjoy it while you can."

Tad stalked away before the old man could refuse the hat on behalf of the girl or, worse, call the cops. The last thing Tad needed was for the police to find the weed he'd stored that cheese grater he'd managed to sneak out. He supposed now he had no choice but to hike to the bus stop.

Walking down the street, Tad managed to avoid looking back over at his former place of employment by directing his attention to the noisy group of men sitting on the front porch across the street. One of them waved at him with a drink in hand and Tad lifted a hand from his box to wave back. Unfortunately, doing so made him lose his grip and the box tumbled to the ground. Humiliated, Tad knelt to pick up the crappy pieces of his messed up life; he was surprised a moment later when someone handed him one of his rubber band balls.

"You look like you could use a drink."

"Yeah," Tad agreed. "Life sucks."

"We have vodka, tequila and scotch, all of which are known to numb the pain."

"Yes, please."

The other man smiled. "My kind of guy. I'm Lee, by the way."

"Tad."

"Tad. Well come on up. My friend Fernando would love to meet you."

"Fernando?" Tad glanced back at the porch and the same guy who had waved before gave him a saucy smile. "Right."

Maybe this day wasn't going to turn out so bad after all.


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of _Desperate Housewives_.

**Chapter Summary: **The B. O. W. L. society seeks a new member. A post-ep for "Chromolume #7." This one isn't meant to be taken too seriously. In fact, it's quite cracky.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Seventeen:**

**A Meeting of the B. O. W. L. Society **

Sam Allen looked at the wrought iron gate in fascination and his finger nearly itched to press the button on the intercom. Despite being in his best suit—the one he'd saved for months in order to buy—he still felt woefully inadequate in the floodlights of the mansion before him. He couldn't help but think that the invitation he'd mysteriously received in the mail three days previously had been addressed to the wrong Samuel Allen and he would soon find himself laughed away from the impressive grounds before him. Once more Sam glanced at the invitation.

_Mr. Samuel Allen_, the invitation courteously read,

_The members of the B. O. W. L. society cordially invite you to a_

_formal dinner on Saturday the eighteenth of March_

_during which you will be considered for future membership._

_Please present this invitation at the door of _

_19 Raymond Place at six o'clock._

_Sincerely,_

_Z. W. Young, B. O. W. L. President_

Curiosity and hope that they did mean he made Sam overcome his fear of humiliation, and finally he reached out a finger to press the intercom button. There was a crackle and then a gruff voice asked him to state his business; upon doing so, the gate opened and Sam puttered up the lane in his hapless vehicle. When he presented his invitation at the door, he was wordlessly led down a long hallway by a sour looking butler and deposited in what appeared to be a library. The only other soul in the room was a man who appeared to be near Sam's age. He stood in a shiny, patterned black suit with golden hair that came down past his shoulders, reading a book and sipping a glass of red wine.

"Mr. Samuel Allen, sir," the butler announced.

The man snapped the book shut and set it on an end table. "Thank you, Charles." Pouring a second glass of wine, the man crossed to room to where Sam stood and handed him the glass. "Samuel," he said, "allow me to introduce myself. I'm Zachary Young, president of B. O. W. L. Welcome to my home."

"Uh, thanks," replied Sam, who was beginning to have second thoughts about the entire evening. Alone in this room with the odd person who appeared to believe he was the hero of a Victorian novel, Sam wondered if he was about to be murdered and sealed away in some secret passageway of this mansion. He decided then not to drink the wine. "What is B. O. W. L. exactly? I'm sorry to say I've never heard of it."

Zachary laughed and set his glass down on the mantle of a large fireplace. "All in good time, my friend. We're still awaiting the arrival of my associate."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "This club—"

"Society, really."

"—is exclusive, correct?"

"Precisely."

"Just how exclusive?"

"Well so far there are just two members. But we have high hopes for the future, particularly with your fortunate arrival."

"My arrival where?"

Before Zachary could respond, someone cursed in the hallway and the doors to the library burst open. A haughty young woman, perhaps ten years Sam's junior, stamped into the room ahead of the butler and growled, "Okay, I know the rules!" With a sigh she dropped her cigarette in the glass of wine Sam still hadn't sampled as the butler announced her as a "Miss Kayla Scavo."

"Jeez, Jeeves, I've only been here a hundred times."

"Kayla!" hissed Zachary, finally dropping what Sam had rightfully assumed was a pretense. "We have a guest! You can go, Charles."

The butler excused himself and Kayla flopped down in one of the winged armchairs rather gracefully. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and despite being the odd one out, Sam actually felt acutely uncomfortable in his formal clothes in her presence. "I see that, Zach. I'm not blind."

"Sam," said Zach, any confidence he'd had completely gone, "this is Kayla, our other member. Kayla, this is Sam Allen."

"Who'd your mom have the misfortune of screwing?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, sorry. Didn't Zach get around to explaining yet?"

"Explaining what?"

"B. O. W. L.," said Kayla. "Bastards of Wisteria Lane."

Sam felt the color rise in his neck. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"You'd think that, wouldn't you, but Zach is dead serious. About everything."

"Well I'd just heard…I mean, my sources say…Rumor has it that you're the illegitimate child of Rex Van de Kamp. That's true, right?" asked Zach.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "What is this about? Did someone put you up to this?"

"It's a club, idiot." Kayla rolled her eyes again and Zach glared at her. "Sorry, _society_. Zach and I are bastards too."

"Excuse me?"

"Our dads screwed our moms out of wedlock and then split."

"I know what a bastard is."

Kayla shrugged one shoulder. "You seemed a little slow on the uptake."

"I don't get it," said Sam. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Both of our dads live on Wisteria Lane. So did yours," explained Zach. "So we just thought maybe you'd like to join us. We get together for weekly dinners. You know, for company, commiseration, a good time…"

"Plotting revenge."

Sam started at Kayla's words. "Revenge?"

Zach shook his head in the negative even as Kayla went on to say, "Well yeah."

"Against who?"

"Our stepmoms." At this, Zach fervently mouthed 'no' and made a gesture that indicated Kayla was mentally unbalanced; Kayla remained unaware of this. "And our fathers. Do you know that I've been gone from the Lane for years now and my family hasn't been around to see me once? I don't think they even mention my name anymore. It's like I never existed. Zach's dad is the same, but he'd never admit it."

"If I hadn't been so coldhearted I'm sure I'd have a perfectly delightful relationship with my father now," insisted Zach. This time it was Kayla who made exaggerated gestures of disagreement; the only difference was that Zach was well aware. "And so would Kayla."

"Hey, it's _evil _stepmother for a reason. I did nothing wrong. You'll learn that soon enough, Sammy. Or did you already?"

"My stepmother is a perfectly lovely woman and we're going to have a grand relationship. As soon as I get my nuisance of a brother out of the way."

"Oh, good!" Kayla clapped her hands. "Maybe you should stay. Revenge is my specialty. Just look at this kickass scar on my arm; I did it to myself just to get my stepmother sent to prison. It didn't work, but I've come up with loads of better schemes since then. Just wait and see."

"Wow. That's really underhanded. And devious." Sam felt a smile finally creep onto his face. "Just my style."

"Now wait just a minute," interjected Zach.

"We'll have a great time together," said Kayla. She stood and laced her arm through Sam's, leading him toward the door. "Do you know I once got my brothers to burn down a building?"

"Really? How?"

"Guys! Hey, guys, this isn't how it's supposed to be! We're about community! Good times! Picnics!"

"God, Zach, do you ever shut up?" Kayla smiled wickedly up at Sam and whispered, "I only keep him around for the money, you know. Now, did you know I was the product of a one-night stand?"

"Really? Me too!"

Behind them, Zach called, "Well I was born out of the hazy love of drug addicts! Guys?"

"No one cares, Zach."

Sam grinned. He had a feeling B. O. W. L. might be the best society he could have ever hoped to join.


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own any rights to _Desperate Housewives_.

**Chapter Summary: **A series of photos not shown during "My Two Young Men."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Eighteen:**

**Photographs**

**One**

"Andrew, move closer to Danielle."

Andrew rolled his eyes and scooted a couple of inches closer to her, not bothering to uncross his arms or wipe the scowl off of his face. Even though Andrew's obviously foul mood had more to do with Sam than her, Danielle still felt slighted. She hadn't seen her brother in over a year and from the minute she walked through the door he'd been nothing but sarcastic remarks and moody glares. It made her feel fifteen all over again; like her dad would burst through the door at any minute and tell him to stop being a smart ass.

Her mother tilted her head to the side, studying them, and said, "Orson, what do you think?"

"I think this might be a bit premature. I'm not sure it's such a good idea."

"Thank you!" Andrew nodded curtly as though Orson's interjection would change their mother's mind. Danielle had to admit that the idea of a picture of her, Sam and Andrew together did seem a bit untoward; she'd only met Sam twenty minutes ago and hadn't even had a chance to catch her breath before her mother had pulled out her camera. But the first rule in the Van de Kamp house had always been "what Bree says goes" and Danielle didn't particularly want to fight her mother on this point. Andrew was doing enough of that for both of them.

"I didn't ask for your opinion on the idea, just the pose. Do you think Sam should be in the middle? He is the tallest."

"Mom, it's fine," said Danielle, interjecting before Andrew could take her comment as a criticism of his height. "Just take the picture."

For a moment, Danielle thought her mother might argue—they disagreed on everything now from politics to what kind of orange juice tasted best—but then she drew a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. On the count of three. One. Two. Three." Danielle forced a small smile as Bree snapped the picture. "Oh, Andrew. You're scowling. Let's take another one."

"This is just how I look, Mom," snapped Andrew. "You're not going to get a better one."

Their mother looked ready to contradict this as well, but Sam interceded by asking, "Can I see the picture?"

"Of course." She handed the camera to Sam and Danielle leaned over to look too, curiosity getting the best of her. Andrew, if possible, looked more sullen than she'd ever seen him and Sam looked like he had a stick up his ass. In her opinion—which was the only one that really mattered—she was the only one who looked great.

"This is fantastic photography work, Bree. May I have a copy?" asked Sam. Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle saw Andrew and Orson exchange a weary look. She wondered if Sam was always this much of a kiss-ass.

"Certainly, Sam."

Sam grinned, an unnatural look for him. "It will be wonderful to finally have a picture of my and my half-siblings." He turned his smile toward Danielle and she returned it hesitantly. Andrew might have been overreacting about having his mama's boy status revoked, but even she had to agree that Sam was pretty annoying. But then, so was Andrew most of the time.

"Can I have a copy too, Mom?" she asked.

Her mother started, clearly thrown off by the request. "Oh. Yes. Of course."

Danielle smiled pleasantly. Depending on how the rest of this night went she could always crop one or both of her brothers out of the shot. After all, it was a fantastic picture of her.

**Two**

Tom opened his bedroom door quietly, half-hoping that Lynette had fallen asleep; she'd looked exhausted and he was worried about the added strain she'd been under lately. After Irina had thrown the borscht at her and stormed out, Lynette had burst into tears, frightening Preston and making Tom overprotective. Logically he knew that stress and worry had combined with her pregnancy hormones to make her weepy at a moment she would usually have been furious, but logic couldn't overpower the surge of annoyance, pain and anger he'd felt at seeing his wife cry. After taking her upstairs and calming her down, Tom had had a long talk with Preston that he wasn't sure had done any good; it seemed more fruitless than talking to a brick wall.

For a second, he thought Lynette actually was asleep—she lay on her side with her back to him—but when the door clicked shut she turned her head to look at him. "Where were you?"

"Talking to our son."

"Oh." Lynette turned away from him again and Tom didn't press the matter. Right now they were all at a stalemate and there was no need to rehash anything more tonight. He changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, ready to crawl into bed and pass out. He felt as tired as Lynette looked. When he finally came over to the bed, though, he saw that his wife wasn't ready to put the matter to rest for the night; she'd dug out an old photo album, apparently intent on torturing herself.

"What are you doing?" he asked exasperatedly. He pulled back the covers and slid into bed, trying to think of some way to get her mind off of everything. Unfortunately, he was coming up blank.

"Looking at Preston's baby pictures." She scooted closer to him, laying her head against his shoulder and propping the album on his torso so he could see as well. Against his better judgment, Tom felt a wave of nostalgia at the sweeping collection of baby pictures they had of the twins. It truly didn't feel like nineteen years had gone by since they'd been born. Driving Lynette to the hospital, anxiously waiting and pacing and aching for too many hours of labor, and then finally Preston and then Porter had come into his world, changing life as he knew it forever—it all seemed like it could have been yesterday.

"He's not a baby any more." It felt contradictory to how he felt at the sight of a picture of his infant son lying on his chest, but both he and Lynette needed to hear the words. "We have to let him make his own choices."

"I care about him too much to watch him throw his life away. That…_girl_ won't make him happy."

Tom wrapped an arm around Lynette and gently ran his fingers up and down her arm, trying to keep her calm. "I have my doubts too. You know I do. I'm just afraid that if we don't make some kind of effort with Irina, we're going to be the ones to lose Preston."

Lynette was quiet for a moment and Tom turned the page in the photo album. The next picture was of Lynette, fast asleep with Preston cradled in her arms. Tom remembered snapping that picture; he remembered thinking that Lynette had never looked so naturally beautiful to him than she did as the mother of his children; he remembered promising to take care of her and their kids for the rest of his life.

"I just love him so much."

"Yeah," Tom agreed, closing the album and setting it aside. He rested his hand against her stomach, smiling sadly as the baby kicked. "Me too."

**Three**

"Okay. I want everyone to say 'chocolate!'"

Juanita joined the chorus of her classmates' voices as they all did as Mrs. Henderson said and she grinned as widely as she could. As the winner, she was front and center in the class photo and. as if that wasn't enough of a reason to smile, her mother stood right in her line of vision with the proudest smile Juanita had seen in a long time.

"One more," said Mrs. Henderson. "One. Two. Three. Chocolate!"

"Chocolate!" they all echoed back.

"Very good! This will look great in the yearbook, kids!"

The crowd of students began to disperse and Juanita made a beeline to her mother, eager to go home and share the news with her father too. He'd bought ten more bars from her last night and Juanita just knew deep down that that was what had given her that final push to victory.

"You looked beautiful up there, sweetie! You should be so proud of yourself!"

"Guess what, Mom? Marisa and Angelina and Michael and Taylor all already said they'd come to my party. Isn't that great?"

"Ooh!" her mom squealed, and Juanita smiled even wider. "You are going to be the most popular kid in this school. Just wait and see!"

"Can we go home now? Dad's going to be so excited when I tell him!" Juanita turned to go, but was immediately halted by her mother's hand on her shoulder. Forcibly, she was turned back to face her mom.

"Wait, wait, wait. Slow down, honey. Did you invite MJ to your party?"

"MJ? No."

"Why not?"

Juanita shrugged. She'd never gotten along very well with MJ despite their mothers pushing them together all their lives. "I don't know."

"Well I think you should. I know that you and MJ don't always get along, but he really is your friend."

"No he's not."

Her mother sighed and rubbed her hand up and down Juanita's arm. Juanita had a sinking feeling that her mother wasn't going to give her much of a choice in the matter. "You may not think he is, but trust me, MJ is a better friend than you know. And someday when you look back at that picture you just took, Marisa and Michael and all those other kids might not even matter, but MJ is always going to be someone special. He's going to be that one kid that you really remember."

"How do you know?"

"I'm your mother."

Juanita rolled her eyes; she was beginning to think this wasn't a real way of knowing anything, but her mother said it a lot. She also doubted that she'd ever really be friends with MJ, but if it would make her mother happy…

"Fine. I'll ask MJ to come."

"Thank you." Her mother tenderly smoothed her hair with her hand. "You are a fantastic kid."

Juanita smiled; now that made inviting MJ worthwhile.


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives _is in no way mine. At all. Even a little.

**Chapter Summary: **The other men on Wisteria Lane teach Preston a little bit about love. A post-ep for "We All Deserve to Die."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Nineteen:**

**Bowling Night**

Preston entered the bowling alley already trailing three steps behind his father. When his dad had entered his room twenty minutes ago and over-enthusiastically invited him to go bowling with him and "the guys," Preston had inexplicably heard the words, "Sure, let me grab my jacket" leave his mouth. At the time, he'd felt that if he spent another moment sulking in his room he'd surely lose his mind. Now that he was here, he wanted nothing more than to be back at home. This conundrum had been ongoing for over a week now; ever since he'd broken up with Irina.

Still, as Mike, Orson and Carlos came into view, Preston became fairly convinced that he must have had a small stroke when he agreed to this. He would have been better off going to the mall with his mom and Penny, and that excursion would have been filled with awkward silences. Yes, definitely preferable.

His dad clapped an arm over his shoulder and smiled overzealously. Preston felt a pang of guilt; his old man really was trying to sell this as fun. "This is going to be great! We're going to have a good time."

"Yep," Preston agreed, not meaning it in the slightest. "A great time."

They walked down the couple of steps to their lanes and the other dads from the neighborhood greeted them with the same over-the-top excitement. If there was anything more humiliating than his parents' pity, it had to be pity from other parents. Preston sighed and managed a weak hello.

His dad sat down and started to change his shoes. "Preston is a great bowler. You better watch your back, Mike."

"I'm watching out for Orson. He's tripled his score since he got his new wheels."

Carlos snorted. "Yeah, from twenty to sixty. Ooh, look out."

"I could drop this ball on your foot and you'd never see it coming," said Orson. "Don't tempt me."

As the game started with Orson rather tamely knocking over one pin, Preston let the conversation wash over him without comprehending much of it. The older men seemed content to rib one another good naturedly without talking about anything meaningful and it was easy to tune out. The fact that he was excluded from the mockery and received overdone congratulations every time it was his turn only made him more inclined to shut up and pretend he wasn't really there. He took each turn rather robotically, not managing any strikes but scoring a few spares that kept his score somewhat respectable.

"Well Tom's back on his game tonight," remarked Orson casually after his dad bowled his second strike. "No anxieties throwing you off this week?" He glanced over at Carlos, who rose to take his turn and consequently missed his dad's pointed glare. For the hundredth time, Preston wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or annoyed that he'd troubled everyone so much.

"Yeah, you're a lot worse when you're worried," agreed Mike. He rested his hands behind his head and smiled smugly. "So when is the baby due?"

"Very clever. You guys are hilarious."

"Just making conversation."

"Yeah, sure."

Carlos, who had just bowled a spare, made some stupid gestures of victory as he walked back to his seat. "You should talk, Delfino," he said as he sat down. "I haven't seen you get a strike yet tonight and this is what? The seventh frame?"

"So I'm a little off tonight." Mike stood and picked up his ball. "Big deal."

"It's pathetic, man" said Carlos, taking a sip of beer. His words slurred just a little and Preston realized he was drunk. "You think Susan would think she's lucky to have you tonight?"

The mood shifted so acutely that even Preston felt it, though he couldn't pinpoint why Carlos' words were any worse than whatever else had been said. Mike's face froze for a moment, his only movement turning the ball over in his hands, and the tension in the air felt palpable. The evening seemed to depend on what was said next, so Preston wasn't surprised when his father jumped in with a non-sequitur; it was a key survival tactic at home. "You know the first time I knew Lynette loved me?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" snapped Mike, tearing his eyes away from Carlos.

His dad ignored this and plowed on with his story. "We had only been dating for a month and were driving to work one morning and she was in a horrible mood about…something. Anyway, we stopped for donuts. And Lynette has this thing about donuts—they have to go with how she's feeling. Jelly on the weekends and sprinkles when she's excited and bear claws when she's upset. So I ordered her a bear claw because I just knew without even thinking about it. And she looked at me…" His father sighed. "She looked at me like I was the only man in the whole world. And I just knew."

Preston stared at his dad without having a clue about what to think or say or feel. It was weird; he knew on some innate level that his parents loved one another, but he'd never consciously thought about it. He'd never considered why they did or what had made them fall in love. For him, it was something that had just always existed. He suddenly felt like he'd entered another world—one where his parents weren't parents, but actual people—and he couldn't begin to comprehend this.

"I made Bree dinner," said Orson, picking up on his father's subject and breaking Preston's train of thought. "I just wanted to do something nice for her, but when she got to my apartment and she saw what I'd done she burst into tears. I didn't know what I'd done wrong or why she was so upset. She just stood there with tears streaming down her face, not saying a word. But it turned out that no one had cooked her dinner in nearly twenty years; not since she'd lived at home with her parents. It was something so simple—the gesture, not the dinner; the dinner took about five hours to prepare—but she made me feel like I'd given her the world. No woman ever made me feel like that before."

"Gaby looked at me like that the other day. When I told her I'd break the news to Bob and Lee for her."

"I don't get it," said Preston suddenly, breaking through the odd hailstorm of emotion that had befallen the group. "I don't. Are you telling me that's how you know a woman loves you? It's all just a look?"

"That's part of it," said Mike carefully. He was still holding the ball tensely, but the anger in him seemed to have deflated. "And the way she treats you."

"The way she kisses you," added Carlos.

Orson smiled. "When she says it."

Preston took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He didn't think Irina had ever said the words to him; she'd told him that she wanted him, that she needed him, often, but never _I love you_. There were a hundred little moments he could think of in the past couple of months—moments when he'd tried to be romantic; when he'd tried to tell Irina how he felt about her—where Irina's only response had been to pull him into bed and have sex. She'd never looked like she'd cared; she'd never looked like it had meant anything.

His dad squeezed his shoulder, breaking his revelry, and looked at him with a reassuring smile, but Preston couldn't even manage to return the gesture. "When you meet the right woman, you'll know," his dad said.

"I thought I knew this time."

"That's youth," said his dad.

"Yeah," agreed Carlos. He downed the rest of his beer bottle. "You're still thinking with your dick instead of your head."

There was an awkward pause, but this time Preston broke the silence. "Well," he said, somewhat reluctantly, "the sex was great."

The other men started to laugh, maybe somewhat louder than necessary, but pity was hard to contest, and Preston finally managed a small smile. His dad patted his shoulder. "You're going to be fine," he said.

For the first time, Preston thought that maybe he would be.


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine nor would I ever claim that it is.

**Chapter Summary: **Eddie's first morning at the Scavos'. A post-ep for "Epiphany."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Twenty: **

**If Wishes Were Horses**

Sunday morning, Eddie gradually woke up to the unusual sounds of a house buzzing with activity, but trying very hard to be quiet about it. The sounds of voices were jumbled so Eddie couldn't make out who was saying what, but that didn't particularly matter. For one brief moment, still half-asleep, Eddie allowed himself to pretend in a way that he hadn't since he was a little boy at his friends' houses—pretend that he actually belonged in this house, as part of this family. Because the truth was that no matter how welcoming Mr. and Mrs. Scavo had been, this wasn't his home and it couldn't last forever. Once they realized how worthless he really was, Eddie knew that it wouldn't be long before they would politely ask him to leave.

For now, though, he had to make the most of this situation. Gingerly, he padded into the kitchen, hoping to make a subtle entrance and to not draw attention to himself. Mrs. Scavo stood at the stove, frying what appeared to be bacon, though she seemed more preoccupied with how Mr. Scavo was kissing her neck than her cooking. She kept giggling, and then swatting at him and chastising him to get away, clearly not meaning a word of what she said. It had always been fascinating to Eddie how couples behaved when they thought no one was watching; it was the only time their love was uncensored—pure—and Eddie found that he could never have his fill of seeing it.

Quietly, Eddie slipped through the kitchen into the living room without being seen. He was surprised to find Penny and Parker there, the former sitting on the floor eating a bowl of cereal and the latter sprawled over the couch. They were both glued to the television and Eddie got only a slight acknowledgement as he sat down on the other sofa. From there he still had a direct view into the kitchen so he could continue to keep an eye on the couple while pretending to watch television. Mr. Scavo now leaned against the counter with his arms crossed; he was speaking in a tone so low that Eddie couldn't hear anything over the television and he wondered what had changed the mood so abruptly.

A commercial came on and Penny stood, wandering into the kitchen. Parker immediately pounced on the remote and changed the channel. "Hey Mom," said Penny, effectively breaking up her parents' conversation. "I have to go over to Caitlyn's this afternoon. We're working on a social studies project. Can you drive me?"

"Can you take her, Tom? I'm going to the gardening center."

"Sure." Mr. Scavo kissed his wife on the cheek, tugged gently on one of Penny's pigtails, and then walked into the living room, shoving Parker's legs out of the way so he could sit down next to him on the couch.

"Can I drive?" asked Parker, haphazardly adjusting his legs and still not tearing his eyes from the television.

Mr. Scavo, who seemed as instantly drawn to whatever sport Parker had put on, agreed distractedly. "Uh, yeah, Parker. That's fine."

Eddie cleared his throat and rubbed his hands against his pants nervously. Of the whole conversation, the only part that struck him was the errand Mrs. Scavo had planned for the day. He wanted something—some flowering seed he could spread inconspicuously—to mark the spot where he'd buried his mother. Something beautiful as he liked to imagine she could have been in another life. "Mrs. Scavo?" he called, drawing a glance from no one but the person he addressed. "Do you think I could go with you this afternoon?"

"To the gardening center?" She took the bacon off of the stove and began to lay it out on a plate; Penny snatched a piece on her way back to the living room. "Sure, Eddie. If you want to."

Eddie let out the breath he was holding, honestly surprised by her easy agreement. People seemed to like him best when he was invisible; it always made him nervous to admit he existed. Without another word, Eddie dismissed himself to go upstairs to take a shower, creeping quietly so as not to wake the twins. He needn't have worried; toward the top of the stairs he could hear their voices drifting from the open door of their room. Eddie wouldn't have even paused, but then he heard his name and the compulsion to stop and eavesdrop was too great to fight.

"Yeah, I know Mom feels sorry for him or whatever. So do I," he heard Porter say. "But I am not sharing this room with Parker again."

"We should move out."

"Oh yeah. Sure."

"Hey, it's only going to get more crowded once the baby comes. And if Mom and Dad keep inviting in strays we're going end up forced out anyway."

"I don't know what they were thinking."

"I never know what they're thinking."

Both boys began to laugh and like a shadow, Eddie slipped past their room and down the hall. They had a point; it was incomprehensible that their parents would invite another person into their house when they were about to have seven family members under one roof. Why now? Why had they suddenly decided that he needed to leave his mother? Why couldn't it have been a week ago? Or a month ago? And why the Scavos? Why not any of the other number of adults in his life over the years—other neighbors, teachers, parents of his friends? Why had no one else swooped in to rescue him before?

Why now?

Eddie supposed if he was a good person he would have accepted his salvation without question, but it had come too late. All of the warmth and family in the world wouldn't make up for what he had already done and he couldn't help but wonder what might have been if someone had just stepped in earlier. Maybe everything would have been different. Maybe everything would have been better.

Not that maybes counted for anything.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," whispered Eddie. He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **This is so not mine in any way, shape or form.

**Chapter Summary: **Susan, Lynette, Bree and Gaby catch up on recent events. A post-ep for "A Little Night Music." Definitely a bit of a parody, but it's all meant in good fun. I still love this show.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Twenty-One:**

**Catching Up**

"Did you guys hear?" asked Gaby. She leaned against the railing of her porch and paused for dramatic effect. "There was a hit and run the other night."

Lynette yawned. "Another one?"

"Did it happen on the street again or was the victim just someone who lives here?" asked Susan.

"Both! It was Nick Bolen?"

Bree frowned. "Who?"

"Nick Bolen. Remember? Creepy guy. For awhile we thought he was the strangler."

"Ooh, yeah," said Lynette. She set down her water bottle and leaned back in her chair. "He's married to whatshername. Uh…"

"Angie. Why am I the only one who remembers this?"

"Well you're the only one who's talked to them in months, Gaby."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" asked Lynette. "You two took that weird little trip together to New York. Are you best buds now or something?"

"Eh. She's okay I guess. I don't know. I mean, yeah we traveled together, but does that mean I would lay down my life for her…" Gaby shrugged.

Susan gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Well her year's almost up anyway, right?"

"What now?"

"Oh come on. Like you haven't all thought it at some point."

Gaby laughed nervously. "Thought what?"

Susan looked around the group as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her voice dropped significantly. "Mary Alice's house is cursed."

"What?"

"I'm serious! I think she left some bad mojo in there when she died. No one's lasted longer than a year since then."

"That can't be true," said Bree. "Is that true?"

"No, she's right," said Gaby slowly. "Remember that creepy Art guy? He was only there a month. And Mike didn't last long either. No one has."

"Ooh yeah," said Lynette, nodding in agreement. "Wow, you're right. Cursed."

"Yeah," said Susan. "So I figure Angie's year is almost up."

Gaby frowned. "Has it really been a year already?"

"I think so. Lynette, how long have you been pregnant?"

"Oh God, I don't know. My entire adult life?"

"Yep," said Susan. "That sounds about right."

Gaby sighed loudly. "Anyway, Nick was plowed down on the street like three days ago."

"Really?" Bree brushed at a wrinkle in her skirt. "I didn't even hear anything."

"Well should we do something for Angie?" asked Gaby.

"Oh…" The girls exchanged wary looks and Bree hesitantly said, "Well I'm swamped with work, but I have a half-eaten pie in the fridge. If Orson hasn't finished it off I could take that over."

"Maybe I could make…er, buy a casserole."

"Good. That's good. Lynette?"

"I don't feel like it."

"Lynette!"

"What? I don't. Don't look at me like that. I've got my own problems."

Gaby and Susan looked like they wanted to ask for details, but they were cut off by Bree suddenly saying, "Do you really think they'll move out soon?"

"Oh yeah," said Susan. "That curse is real. They'll be gone by the time Lynette finally pops out her kid."

"Hmm."

"Bree?"

"I was just thinking, with the Bolens gone maybe I can convince Sam to move in."

Gaby raised an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee as Lynette asked, "Who the heck is Sam?"

"Sam. Rex's illegitimate son."

"Rex had an illegitimate son?!"

"Wow," said Susan. "First Mike, then Tom, now Rex. Who's next? Carlos?"

"Don't joke about that."

"Well Sam is a nightmare," said Bree, effortlessly taking control of the conversation again. "Andrew and Orson wanted to cook up some elaborate scheme to get rid of him, but a cursed house could be the perfect solution."

"Hmm." Lynette tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. "Do you think he'd need a roommate?"

"Why?"

"I'm not sure this Eddie thing is working out."

"Eddie thing?"

"We invited Eddie Orlofsky to move in."

The other girls gasped. "When did that happen?" asked Bree.

"Last week."

"Huh," said Gaby. "I didn't notice."

The girls looked at each other and slowly Susan said, "Wow. We've been kind of out of touch lately, huh?"

"I guess so," Lynette agreed.

"Maybe we should have another poker game sometime soon."

The other nodded in agreement with Bree's suggestion. "Definitely."

"Do you think Katherine would host?" she asked.

"That's a good question," said Susan. "Where has Katherine been lately anyway? I haven't seen her around."

Gaby shrugged. "Maybe she's still upset that everyone found out that she's a lesbian."

Bree's jaw dropped. "Katherine's a lesbian?"

"Yeah," said Lynette. "We definitely need to play poker more often."


	23. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: **This is still not mine. Surprise!

**Chapter Summary: **The men of Wisteria Lane wait for their wives. A post-ep for "The Ballad of Booth."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Twenty-Two:**

**Waiting**

**One**

"Dad, do we have to move?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Susan stiffen, her body becoming tense and tightly-coiled. They'd just finished explaining to MJ that they were going to leave the house, but apparently MJ took it as solely Susan's decision. Maybe Mike should have said more than, "MJ, we need to talk to you," but that point was moot now.

"Yeah, bud. We just told you that."

"But why? Juanita promised to teach me how to spit a real loogie."

"Well that's…disgusting."

Susan reached out and took MJ's hand. "Sweetie, you'll still see plenty of Juanita. You'll still be in school together. And we'll come over to visit all the time. I promise."

"But I don't wanna go."

For a second, Susan's eyes flashed and Mike knew down in his bones that MJ's words were the ones she'd been fighting. The thought made him feel angry and depressed all at once.

"It'll be great, MJ. You'll see," said Mike. He looked at Susan and repeated the words: "You'll see."

Slowly, Susan shook her head ever so slightly; it was so innate that Mike wondered if she even realized she'd done it. The past week had been so hard—Susan was trying; God, she was trying; but no amount of effort could erase the pain in her eyes. He wanted to shake her, to ask when she'd forgive him for this, but it wouldn't do any good. It was just going to take time.

"Your dad's right," said Susan finally. "Just wait and see, MJ."

Mike nodded and took Susan's hand; she frowned and Mike felt his heart break. But he was as trapped as MJ and the best either of them could do was to wait.

**Two**

The moment Bree shut the bathroom door Orson whipped the covers off and began the laborious process of stripping—first his shirt and then the struggle to remove his pants. The action involved a lot shimmying and contorting that Orson had mastered in private but still felt too silly to do in front of his wife. There was nothing like a war with one's pants to kill the mood.

"Bree?" he called. He flattened some of the wrinkles from his boxer shorts and then ran a hand through his hair. Last night they'd had celebratory sex, fun and full of laughter and fantastic, and Orson hoped for a repeat performance. There was no reason getting rid of Sam couldn't be a week, no, month-long celebration, after all. Impatient just at the thought of this, Orson called for his wife again.

The door swung open and Bree entered the room. "Were you calling me?" she asked. Then, with a quirk of her exquisite eyebrow, she added, "Why did you take your pajamas off?"

"Er…" Orson faltered. He hadn't seen Bree since breakfast that morning—she'd had a lot of work to do that day—and her mood seemed to be decidedly different. She was distracted, almost irritable, and Orson wondered just what had happened. And, more importantly, would he still have sex tonight? "I was warm. It's warm in here."

"Really? I'm freezing." Bree reached for a sweater and pulled it on before climbing into bed. Immediately she pulled the covers up around her shoulder.

"Darling, did something happen today?" he asked hesitantly.

Bree avoided his eyes, a sure sign that something had indeed happened. "Why do you say that?"

"You seem…upset."

"No. It was a long day. I have a lot on my mind. I just need to sleep." She smiled as if she hadn't given three different explanations and leaned over to kiss him. "I'll see you in the morning."

Before Orson could utter another word, Bree turned off the light and curled down into the bed. "Goodnight," she murmured, though, oddly, she didn't sound at all tired.

Orson sighed and stared up at the ceiling. So much for celebrating. Apparently he'd have to wait for their next triumph over some dastardly weasel.

**Three**

"Can't sleep?"

Carlos glanced over at the man at the barstool next to him. At this time of night it was odd to see someone else just hanging out in the closed dining room of a hotel, but maybe this man was as eager to pass the time as Carlos was. Personally he was simply counting down the minutes until midnight, but at only ten o'clock it still felt millennia away.

"Trying to stay awake," Carlos amended. "I'm expecting a call from my wife." The other man snorted into his drink, which he'd been nursing for almost an hour.

"Now why would you stay awake for a thing like that?"

"Tomorrow is my birthday." Carlos could think of no reason to engage this ignorant man beyond having someone to help pass the time. Who knew; maybe he'd offend Carlos enough to give him a reason to deck him; the adrenaline would really help.

"So?"

"So she promised to call at midnight."

"Uh-huh. Start the celebration over the phone, huh?"

_Yes_, he thought as he said, "No, nothing like that."

"So you're going to wait two hours to get a call from your wife just to wish you a happy birthday? Man, you're whipped." The other man took another sip of his drink and shook his head at Carlos disapprovingly. It was hard to get too worked up, though, when Carlos knew that in two hours he'd be having phone sex while this poor bastard was probably still sitting at the bar with that same drink.

"You'd understand if you saw my wife."

"I've heard that one before."

Carlos chuckled. "I'm sure you have." He stood up and threw down a few dollars for his drink. "Have a good night, buddy."

"Hey," called the other man as Carlos turned to leave. He held up his drink. "Happy birthday. I hope she's worth the wait."

"Oh, trust me," said Carlos, grinning like a fool, "Gabrielle is always worth the wait."

**Four**

Tom followed Porter and Preston into the house more than ready to get into bed and sleep the rest of the night away. Playing pool hadn't exactly been relaxing given Preston's unshakable depression. The breakup with Irina had been hard enough on him and now her death only exacerbated the wound. Not even Porter's failed attempt to get an attractive waitress to sell him beer had gotten more than a smile and that, for Tom, had been the highlight of the evening. Tom was fairly sure that nothing but time would heal Preston's heart.

Penny and Parker were half-sitting, half-lying on the couch watching some stupid-looking cartoon. There was a pizza box lying open on the table, but only a couple of crusts remained. "Hey kids." He glanced around the room. "Where's your mom?"

"Not here," offered Penny unhelpfully.

"Parker?"

Parker shrugged. "I don't know. She called awhile ago to say she had to run some errands or something."

"Errands?"

"Yeah. That's what she said."

"Your mother is nine months pregnant. If she's on her feet after eight it's a miracle."

"So?"

"So it's after ten."

Tom felt his patience reach its end when Parker's indifference—punctuated by another shrug—continued, but fortunately for his youngest son, Preston laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "She's probably just over at one of the neighbors'."

"Okay." Somewhat eased by this logic, Tom pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for Lynette's cell. As he counted the rings, Porter snatched the remote from Parker and flopped down on the couch to scroll through the channels, ignoring Parker's complaints and Penny's whining. He finally settled on some movie Tom vaguely remembered seeing ages ago just as Lynette's phone went to voicemail. "She's not answering," he told the kids as he snapped his phone shut.

"Dad, you worry too much," said Preston. "I'm sure Mom's fine."

Penny chimed in: "Mrs. Solis was here earlier. Maybe she went over there."

"Yeah," agreed Porter. "Or maybe she's over at Eddie's reading him a bedtime story."

All four of his children chuckled and Tom could only ineffectually glare at them while repressing the idea that soon he'd have five kids mocking him. "Fine," he said slowly. He knocked Parker's feet off the coffee table and sat down between him and Penny, the latter of whom automatically turned his arm into a pillow. "But if your mom doesn't get home or at least call by eleven I'm going to start calling all of the neighbors."

"Okay."

"Whatever you say."

Tom glanced at the clock and sighed. Forty-three minutes. Lynette would be home. She had to be.


	24. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: **I make absolutely no claim to any part of this show. I'm just doing this for my own fun.

**Chapter Summary: **The girls reflect on losses in their life. A post-ep for "I Guess This Is Goodbye."

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Twenty-Three:**

**Odds and Ends**

Gaby misses simplicity.

She thinks she had a simple life for one brief shining moment. Days long ago and far away when she was a newlywed; when she was just finally making friends; when she and her husband were happy and in love. A time before affairs and divorce and kids and feuds and blindness and murders and suicides and cars blowing up in the street. She feels like she's constantly waiting for that moment of simplicity to return, but the timing never seems quite right.

But despite that, Gaby still thought that maybe that day would be today. Carlos was coming home and the kids were behaving and there was nothing to do but say goodbye to Susan and make lasagna. It all seemed very simple when she woke up this morning. It all seemed like a possibility within her grasp. But now Bree is babbling about life-altering announcements and friendship-destroying confessions and Gaby already feels heartsick over the complex drama she knows is coming.

* * *

Bree misses her life after this moment.

She hasn't yet told Gaby what has happened because the words stick in her throat and she can't stop rambling and apologizing even though she hasn't said one single important thing yet. But she knows that the moment she finally confesses that everything is going to change and that she'll never be able to go back to the way things were. She already grieves for the life she is about to leave behind.

She remembers those first few days after Andrew's hit-and-run. Cleaning blood and glass from the street with her friends while they cursed the anonymous driver; desperately trying to make Andrew understand what he did; listening to Carlos as his voice trembled with pain. She knew then that everything would change if the truth ever came out. Twelve years later, this is still the case. After this moment, she'll have no friends. After this moment, her son might very well spend years in jail. She's already lost her business. She's already lost her husband. And after this moment, she'll have nothing left.

* * *

Lynette misses Eddie.

The loss is inexplicable to anyone but herself because her family cannot understand. To her children he's a fleeting shadow—someone who came in and out of their lives and may be pitied, may be hated, may be laughed at, but will soon be forgotten. To her husband, Eddie is the person who stole a moment from him that he will never get back. Every time he holds their daughter he'll be reminded of how he missed her birth. Every time he remembers Eddie, he'll think of how tenuous life is; of how Eddie nearly robbed him of everything that mattered to him.

She can understand this because in those long, horrible hours of labor she thought all the same things. But her family can't understand how she feels. For the first time in her life, she truly knows that she is a great mother. And when she looks back at all of those years that she doubted herself, Lynette can see now that she was a fool. She always thought she should yell less or listen more or spend more time with her children. Or that if she just did a little better, just gave a little more of herself then she would be a great mother. And maybe that is all still true, but Lynette knows all the way down to her bones now that she has always given her kids the one thing they really need from her: unconditional love. Eddie showed her that and Lynette will never forget it; Lynette will never forget him.

* * *

Susan misses her kitchen.

She stands in the her new kitchen, a little nook with a stove and an oven, but no dishwasher and only one tiny window that looks out to the cold, gray building next door, and she thinks about how this one thing shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter that there isn't room to fit a table or that the wallpaper is dated and faded at the edges. It shouldn't matter that that the floor is linoleum and her heels stick to it on the unusually warm spring night. She is the woman who can't cook; whose kitchen is a joke rather than a purposeful place. It shouldn't matter.

As Susan reminds herself of this—of _it shouldn't matter _over and over and over again—something inside of her falters and she has to set her glass of water in the sink because her hand literally can't grasp it one moment longer. Because the truth is that it does matter. Her kitchen—her warm, sunny, functionless kitchen—was the heart of her house. And now it's in the hands of a stranger. A stranger who will eat there and laugh there and love there while Susan listens to the rattle of her decades-old refrigerator and cries silently over her loss.

**-_Fin_-**

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* * *

A/n: **I can't believe this is the last one. I can't believe the season is over already. And I really can't believe that I actually got all of these ficlets written on time!

Thank you so much to every person who took the time to review this fic. If you just read a couple of chapters or if you stuck with me through them all I'm so glad that you took the time to look at this fic of mine. I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter or of the fic overall, so please take this one last chance to click on that review button and let me know.

I'll be back for sure next season with another piece and over the summer I'll probably do a series like this for one of the older seasons. So if you enjoyed this be sure to check back with me! Thanks again!

**-Ryeloza-**


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